


Too Muchness

by Karentt1



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Geralt is done with both of them, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jaskier Wears Makeup, Jaskier is an annoying street musician, Jaskier wears super ugly clothes, Slow Burn, Swearing, Yennefer is a politican, Yennefer loves him for some reason, Yennefer would peg jaskier, and its the longest thing ive ever written, but if i could, i also dont know how ao3 works, i am a canadian girl, i cried 6 times making this, i know nothing of what i write about, im sorry, kill me, mentions of triss - Freeform, mentions of valdo marx, so if anything in weird, sorry i can write smut, tell me so i can fix it, this is really fucking bad, writing about us politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karentt1/pseuds/Karentt1
Summary: Yennefer always knew she was too much for people.She never met someone who was the same.(Modern au, where Jaskier is a street musician who wants to sing about Yennefer, and she wants him to shut the fuck up, and for some reason falls in love with him. Geralt just wants them to be happy.)
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 20
Kudos: 58
Collections: Witcher





	Too Muchness

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in six days, and I cried every time. It's really bad, but uh, i worked too hard on it to give up now. 
> 
> So like um, if you notice something wonky, or out of character, or just really bad, you are welcome to comment it, so maybe if i write more in the future, i can actually improve. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

A fact that Yennefer Vengerberg has known ever since she was a child is that old, white politicians are lying, cheating scumbags and that you should never trust a single word they say. 

“Fucking greedy parasites,” her ex-husband, Geralt, used to mutter under his breath, and Yennefer couldn’t agree more. This fact has been proven to her again and again the more she climbed up in the world of US politics and the more she created a name for herself as a social activist. She has built up a reputation in the vast wilderness that was American politics as a cutthroat, ruthless bitch of a woman, who spared no punches and who spit the brutal truth in the faces of those who sought to sugarcoat it. 

It made her quite popular among the youth of the country, who were aiming for the reform of the systems that fought for so long to keep them down. She wasn't as popular among their parents though, or their grandparents, who seemed to want to continue to uphold ‘traditional’ values. Yennefer ignored them. She didn’t want their approval, didn't have a use for it. She wasn’t aiming to be liked, she was aiming for change. That was all that mattered to her. 

Like most politicians, she has a love-hate relationship with the local media. It seems intent on painting her as an unhinged lunatic, but she knows how to turn it against her opposition easily. She knows how to manipulate it to her whims, to twist the words of her rivals for her gain. She takes great pleasure in humiliating them publicly, but she doesn’t necessarily like the media. 

Like always, things go both ways, and she doesn't like being part of a scandal. Especially one involving her daughter. Especially when it was your first time in the spotlight. 

Especially when the entire world seemed intent on exposing every piece of her that she wished to keep hidden.

* * *

Every day Yennefer walks the same route to her place of business. She doesn’t use a car, or the bus, or a taxi. She doesn’t need to. It was only a ten-minute walk from her apartment, so she goes on foot instead. It is a good look for her political career as well; walking reduces carbon emissions and it pleases the local climate change activists, gets them on her side. Plus, it gives her a chance to clear her head and mentally prepare herself for the arguments that will most likely ensure the second she steps a single foot into the building. 

There is only one slight problem. 

“Hello, there Miss Yennefer!” 

Him.

He is an eighteen-year-old street performer, who wore the ugliest, most flamboyant clothes she has ever seen in her life, and he was annoying as fuck. She had first seen him a few months ago, a new addition to the street corner she walks past every day, and he had called out to her then and never stopped. He plays a beat-up old guitar and sings 90’s songs to the crowds that pass by. His guitar case is always at his feet, littered with bills of varying prices. 

He has a nice voice, she will admit. It was clear and angelic, even if his chords were a little weak, but he was still learning. However, this doesn't change the fact that she fucking hates him. 

She rolls her eyes and walks faster, her heels clicking on the pavement. The boy is smiling, his lovely eyes glittering in the light. That's what she first noticed about him, besides his mismatched clothing. His eyes were fucking bright, almost the colour of sea glass, changing between green and blue depending on where the light hit. It was almost mesmerizing. It almost distracted her from his voice. 

“ _Oh lovely Miss Yennefer,”_ the boy sings, strumming his guitar. That was another thing she hates about him, besides his clothing. He always sings about her as she passes by, mainly about her eyes _the colour of lightning storms_ and her bravery _against the political masses_. He insists on it every time she passes him. She despises it. 

(She is slightly flattered of course. The boy seems to hold a healthy amount of fear of her, although instead of shutting up when her glare is cast his way as any sane person would, he instead sings another little verse about her power and terror. It wasn’t often that someone romanticized such a thing instead of criticizing it.) 

Yennefer tried to get him to stop the first few times it happened. It did nothing. He is nothing if not persistent, and holds no notion of self-preservation for his well-being. She has given up on yelling at him after the first few times and instead tries her best to ignore his words. 

He finishes waxing poetry about what she assumes is her “lovely lilac eyes” and bows low, his fingertips brushing the pavement. She scoffs at him and continues walking. She can still hear his twinkling laugh echoing long after she walks away. 

* * *

Two years ago Yennefer's husband, Geralt Rivia, renowned MMA fighter, was accused of having an affair with a fellow fighter, Renfri Shrike. 

Pictures of him entering Renfri’s hospital room after she had been hurt circulated the Internet. Before long, more had appeared, showing them having lunch, practising together and entering the same hotel room. The media had a field day and wasted no time in tearing both of them apart into shreds. 

Geralt said he hadn’t. Yennefer didn’t know whether or not to believe him. She wanted to, by god's she did, but the evidence proved otherwise. Geralt didn’t seem like a cheater; he was known for sleeping around in high school but was loyal almost to a fault for those he cared about. Yennefer just didn’t know if Renfri was one of them. She wished she could ask the girl herself, talk to her even for a minute, but Renfri had died three months after the rumours first started. Geralt mourned, though, for a friend or a lover, Yennefer didn’t know. 

What she does know, however, is regardless if Geralt had cheated or not, their relationship was in shambles. Even if he didn’t have the affair, the media had picked apart both of their careers and relationships and left a gaping wound in both. More importantly, they had targeted Ciri, Yennefer and Geralt's adopted daughter. She had been stalked, bombarded and used as a weapon against both of them in their online war. Neither could forgive that. Both of them have walked away from each other with a healthy amount of hatred for the reporters and journalists who had helped ruin their lives. 

They divorced officially six months after the alleged affair. The media followed them both for a month after, then finally ceased their fire. 

They decided to remain friends afterwards, if not for themselves, then for their daughter. Geralt lives only a few blocks away from Yennefer, and he takes care of Ciri for two weeks at a time, before giving her to Yennefer. They meet up once every week at restaurants, at beaches, at arcades, doing “regular family activities”. They were desperate to give her a normal childhood, despite both her parents being incredibly well known by the public. 

It works for them. It does. Ciri is the glue that keeps them together and even if things are a little tense between Yennefer and Geralt, even if the pain of the supposed betrayal is a little too fresh, well they keep it together for her sake. They care too much for her to let her see their hatred. 

The world keeps spinning; they meet up every Saturday for a family activity; Yennefer says goodbye every two weeks to her daughter; the annoying busker on the corner street keeps singing her praises even though he is so clearly terrified of her. Everything stays the same. Nothing changes. 

Famous last words. 

* * *

Change is a ruthless thing. Sometimes it sneaks up on you and slaps you in the face as hard as it can, then kicks your lifeless body as you cough up blood; some of your ribs are broken, if not bruised. It leaves you gasping, begging for things to return the way they were before, wondering why they had to change in the first place. Yennefer felt like that the day she turned on her phone and seen that first text from her friend Triss, saying _I’m so fucking sorry._ The day her life turned on its head completely. 

Sometimes change comes slowly, like an illness dormant inside of you. It’s first a dull pain inside your head that slowly grows larger and larger until you can no longer ignore it. Sometimes it takes years and years to realize that it’s a problem that you might want to get checked out before it kills you. 

You don’t realize change is happening sometimes until you look up and think “Wait a fucking minute. Didn’t this used to be different?” It comes up, changing small little parts of your life so you don’t notice something is wrong until it’s too late to stop it. 

* * *

“You have to take me, mom, dad already said no,” Ciri says, holding out a piece of colourful paper. On it are the words TAKE YOUR KID TO WORK DAY in bold letters. Yennefer takes it in a perfectly manicured hand and looks it over. 

“And why did dad say no?” she says absently. Her lilac eyes skim the words, barely reading them. It is a school activity, where one parent must take their child to their place of work and show them around. 

Ciri huffs. “He said it was too dangerous for me and that it would probably be more educational for me to go with you anyway.” She crosses her arms and pouts. 

“Wow, that many words,” Yennefer hums, trying not to let too much bitterness enter her words in front of her daughter. She sets the paper down and ruffles Ciri's hair. She knows the true reason Geralt didn’t want his daughter to come with him. His co-workers still whisper about him as he walks through them, whispers about him and Renfri. Yennefer knows he doesn't want to subject Ciri to that. She has to admire his dedication to their daughter if a bit begrudgingly. “You can come then. I’ll contact your teacher and let them know where you’ll be going.” 

Ciri nods then ran back upstairs to her room. Yennefer sighs, and picks up the phone and orders takeout. She wishes she was better at cooking if only to make her feel like a better mother and less like a failure, but no matter what she makes, it never seems to come out right, always too raw or too burnt. Their number was saved in the contacts of the local Chinese place, and the owner knew them by name. At least that meant they got lots of deals on meals. 

She orders and it arrives several minutes later, the same polite teenage girl they always have dropped it off. Yennefer leaves a generous tip, then calls down Ciri to eat. 

* * *

Take your kid to work day; if you haven’t heard of it, well it’s exactly what it says it is. The school lets you out for the day so you could go to your parent's place of work and observe. You take notes, help them out, then write a paragraph about what they do all day. It’s supposed to help you learn about what work entails, to show you what to look forward to when you leave high school, and instead of being a slave to every hour when the bell rings, you become a slave to the capitalist agenda. Yennefer hates it already. 

Ciri holds her hand and skips along as she walks, her backpack around her shoulders, carrying only lunch of the leftover Chinese. There is no need for books and paper today, she insisted that morning, getting ready to go. Yennefer decided to humour her; after all, you couldn’t expect a six-year-old to take notes on old men yelling at each other from across the room during debates. 

“Now Ciri, I expect you to follow some rules today, okay?” Yennefer says, looking down at her daughter. They pass a man sitting on a bench, clearly hungover. “You always have to stay where I can see you, otherwise you’ll be in my office all day and you won’t get to watch me do anything.” 

“But mom,” Ciri whines, tugging on her hand. “That sounds so boring.” 

Her whining causes more than a few people to look over at them, judgement clear in their eyes, practically begging her with their eyes to get her child under control. Yennefer wonders if they were criticizing her parenting skills. She fucking hopes they weren’t, isn’t prepared for that today. 

“No buts, I need to know where you are at all times,” she chides. “It’s dangerous for a six-year-old to be by herself.” 

Ciri frowns but doesn’t argue back. Yennefer internally sighs with relief at her lack of resistance. She doesn’t like it when people judge her parenting, and she certainly already got enough of that from the fucking media and her political rivals. 

She is about to say something comforting, but the sounds of a soft guitar stop her. She mentally swears, taking care not to say a bad word in front of her daughter. She doesn’t have the energy to deal with this today; it is already going to be hell to deal with the overgrown man-babies who call themselves politicians, and her daughter today (though she would be the first to admit no matter how young Ciri is, she is still more qualified than any of them who sit in their chairs and make laws about things that don’t concern them). She doesn’t need some child’s idiotic song buzzing around her head as well. 

She speeds up, almost dragging Ciri behind her. The music gets louder as she draws nearer. Yennefer wishes there was a different way that she could follow that didn't lead her past a disgusting smelling fish shop (she tried to follow that route at first when the young man's singing annoyed her too much, but quickly found that she much preferred the guitar to fish guts). 

She turns one corner, and there he is, wearing a bright pink floral shirt and yellow jeans, his guitar around his neck held by a worn leather strap. She walks closer and closer, aware of Ciri yammering beside her, wishing he wouldn’t notice her today.

Luck certainly isn’t on her side. 

“Miss Yennefer! How are you this fine morning?” 

His voice is loud, but soft around the vowels. It sounds like an accent, but Yennefer doesn’t know where from and doesn't wish to know. He smiles wide when he sees her, then notices Ciri at her side. His eyes widen. 

“It appears you have brought someone with you today!” He bends down, holding a hand out to Ciri. “And who might you be?” he asks. 

“I’m Ciri,” Ciri says shyly, though it was just because anyone would appear shy compared to this wild, loud, extroverted teen. Yennefer wants to know what coffee brand he uses that allows him to have so much energy in the morning.

“Come on Ciri, we have to go or we’ll be late.” Yennefer tugs sharply on Ciri’s hand, trying to lead her away from the busker. The young man stands up and pouts.

“But you almost left without your song! Here,” he says, and Yennefer thinks _oh shit_ when he begins to strum. “ _Oh lady Yennefer, oh lady Yennefer, eyes like lilac petals in a storm, dressed in inky blackness, stronger than diamond, as beautiful as a rose. Oh, lady Yennefer.”_

He winks with a flourish as the song ends. It isn’t his best work; Yennefer knows he could do so much better, has heard better from him, but Ciri is enamoured. Her eyes are wide and shining, and the young man's smile turns a little more genuine at her childish excitement. 

“Did you hear that mom? He sang a song about you!” She tugs at Yennefer's sleeve as she Yennefer didn't hear it, and Yennefer can’t help but smile gently. She regrets it almost instantly, watching the way the young man seems smug watching her as if it was him who drew that smile out. 

“Yes he did,” she murmurs. Ciri looks back at the man. 

“Could you do me?” she asks excitedly and the young man laughs, a bright twinkling sound. 

“Of course m’ lady.” He bows and begins strumming. “ _A young girl, fair and true, eyes the colour of mountain dew, kind and beautiful and how perfectly the wind blew, in the face of the girl, fair and true.”_

It is a soft, delicate tune, and Yennefer finds herself willingly following along to his words. The young man has drawn a small crowd, and he seems to thrive under the attention. He finishes the song with an exaggerated flourish, and the people around them clap. 

Ciri jumps up and down, clapping and smiling wide, happy with her song. The young man chuckles and ruffles her hair. The people slowly dissipate, some dropping coins into the guitar case. “I’m glad you liked it,” he says, and Yennefer tries to pull Ciri back again. 

“Thanks for the songs,” she mutters sharply, “but we really must be going now.” She wants to turn on her heel and walk away from the singer, but Ciri remains rooted on the spot and Yennefer can’t move her without jerking her arm. 

“Mom! Can I have a few dollars to give him?” Ciri begs, hands clasped together, trying her best to do puppy dog eyes. She’s good at it, Yennefer thinks, as she feels herself soften under her daughter's gaze. Damn it. 

“That won’t be necessary,” the singer says, but Yennefer knows it’s just for show, a way to appear modest and humble. She can see through his act, and for some reason, it pisses her off, the idea that the song sung for her daughter, no matter how stupid, was done only for money. It was illogical of her, she knows, to assume that the singer is out here because of the goodness of his heart and not for his wallet, but it makes the song seem less important as if it didn’t matter how happy it made Ciri, but how much the singer made off of it. 

(A voice inside of her wonders if she is blowing something out of proportion.) 

She still relents though. She always seems to when it comes to Ciri. 

She reaches into her purse and pulls out her wallet. She hands a few coins to Ciri, who throws them into the empty guitar case. They make a satisfying sound against the other coins in the case. The singer smiles happily and gives thanks to them both so sincerely that Yennefer feels slightly sick to her stomach. It occurs to her that this is the first time she has given him money. She never did before. It makes her feel weird, thinking about how easily she gave in to the demands of her daughter, especially in front of someone else. The young man didn’t look like he was judging her though. He looks like he is thinking about something very carefully. 

“Goodbye!” Ciri waves wildly as she finally allows herself to be pulled away from the singer. The young man returns her enthusiasm until they turn the corner once more. She could hear him start to sing again, even amongst the sounds of the city. His music rises above it all and swirls around in Yennefer's head. 

“He was nice,” Ciri sighs happily. She starts to hum her song under her breath, the same three chords the young man used for every single fucking simple song. Yennefer feels her eye twitch, and her disdain for the man grows larger as she walks away. 

* * *

Take your kid to work day was just as shitty as Yennefer imagined it. The politicians were snobby and rude, and it was awfully hard to intimidate them when you had a six-year-old tugging at your arm, trying to show you a drawing of the flower she made on important documents. 

Yennefer sighs and rubs her eyes, as Ciri trudges beside her. Long gone was her excited skip, replaced instead with dragging feet. She is too tired to complain, and Yennefer is silently grateful. The two walk out from the building and onto the sidewalk, the sounds of traffic and police sirens filling the air. 

The sounds of strumming are gone. The young man has packed up early and his place at the street corner is empty. Ciri is disappointed, wishing to see him again. Yennefer thanks God for the blessing, however small it is. It has been a long day, and Yennefer just wants to relax at home with her daughter. 

They get home and Ciri runs upstairs to unpack her backpack. Yennefer reaches for the phone to order Chinese again, then thinks better of it. It wouldn’t be practical or healthy to order Chinese three times already in a week on a Tuesday. She decides to give cooking another shot. They still have some pasta shells and sauce in the pantry and it is really hard to fuck up pasta. 

She puts a pot of water on the stove and lets it heat up. She puts the sauce into a smaller pot beside it and turns the burner on. She goes into the fridge and pulls out some lettuce and assorted vegetables to make a salad. Chopping up the carrots into bite-sized pieces is harder than she thought it would be, and the pieces come out slightly lopsided and in a wide variety of sizes. The onion burns Yennefer's eyes and the pepper is near impossible to figure out how to cut, and she remembers why she orders takeout so much. She hums a tune under her breath as she chops the lettuce, getting ready to wash it. She startles and cuts her finger when she realizes that it is the song the busker had sung to Ciri that morning. 

The water bubbles over the pot and onto the red hot stove, sizzling. The pot containing the sauce begins to burn, releasing black smoke, and Yennefer swore, trying to turn off the burner, then rushing into the bathroom to get a band-aid for her finger.

She decides to blame the busker for her failed dinner; it was his song that was stuck in her head. She resolves to glare at him extra hard tomorrow. Hopefully, it would finally be the thing to scare him off for good. 

* * *

“How was it?” Geralt questions the second he sees Ciri. They have decided to meet up at the park for a picnic as their family activity for that week. Geralt has brought some sandwiches and Yennefer has brought some wine. Ciri laughs and runs up to him, and Geralt picks her up, swinging her around. 

Geralt is tall and muscular, with a voice that is deep and gravelly. If it wasn’t for his long white hair, he would have looked like the poster child for toxic masculinity (not Yennefer's words, but she feels like they fit him perfectly). He is covered in scars and his fingers are always calloused, yet he holds Ciri so gently. That’s what attracted Yennefer to him in the first place; she wondered how someone so big and looming could handle something so delicately. She had seen him in a tiny, family-owned coffee shop somewhere, hunched over in the little booth, holding the porcelain teacup tenderly, as if it held the secrets of the universe. She had wanted to know if he would treat her like that. She had wanted to see if she could make him snap. 

Geralt is one of those people who you want to approach, but can’t; he is always glaring, and always wearing black clothing. Even if you did manage to work up enough courage to say hi, he wouldn’t say anything in return. He spoke in grunts and hums and would growl at anyone who pissed him off. Sometimes Yennefer thinks he is more animal than human. 

“It was boring,” Ciri complains, looking straight into his eyes. “I wish I could have gone with you.” Geralt chuckles and puts her down. 

“I don’t think you would have liked that,” he teases, and Yennefer marvels at the difference between how he treats Ciri and how he treats everyone else. “All I did was meet with my manager and we talked about business. You would have enjoyed that even less than your mother's debates.” 

Ciri pouts for a second, before turning away, already disinterested in the conversation. She spies some kids her age playing on the play structure and runs off to join them, leaving her parents alone. 

The air between Yennefer and Geralt is tense, full of awkward silences and unsaid words. It always is, ever since the alleged affair. That was two years ago. She wishes they could get over it and go back to the way they used to, but she also doesn't. It's a strange contradiction. 

She still feels the pain at the betrayal, whether or not it actually happened, still has trust issues left over from the affair. She can admit to herself that she still loves the man, it's just a different kind of love than before. He had intrigued her, he had been someone who was as equally as broken as she was, and fuck, she hates using that phrasing in a sentence. She thinks it makes her sound like someone pretentious as if she is taking pride in her brokenness and trauma. It is, however, the only way to describe it. Geralt had been someone who she could relate to, someone who she loved because it made sense that they were together. She still loved him even now, but it was different. She wants things to go back to normal, when she was able to show her love for Geralt without thinking of him fucking Renfri behind her back, but she also doesn't because that would mean slipping back into their usual loving admissions, pretending that what they felt for each other was romantic. 

The sex had been amazing too.

She lays out the blanket, then takes out the wine and settles down on it. They are in a secluded area to avoid the public, and tree leaves float merrily above them. The grass is prickly even underneath the fabric. Geralt sits down as well, wincing as he does. He is getting old and the fights have taken their toll on him. Yennefer can see that his muscles are sore and she wonders if it would be weird to ask if she could massage them for him. 

Probably, she thinks. 

“How was it really?” he asks, pulling out the sandwiches. They have beef and pickles in them, with multigrain bread. Yennefer hates pickles. She wonders if Geralt had done that on purpose. She wouldn’t have faulted him if he did. She brought the wine knowing full well that he hates the beverage with a passion. 

“Hell,” she replies simply, reaching for the bottle instead. He wasn’t going to drink any, so she doesn’t even bother with a glass. Instead, she drank right from the wine bottle. 

Geralt hums in response, then turn to look at Ciri, who is screaming, chasing the other kids around in a game of tag. The sun is setting, and the family across the field is barbecuing something and the smell wafts over to them. Yennefer takes another sip of wine and privately thinks that it’s shit. 

The silence that follows is tense and uncomfortable, but neither has any words for each other. Neither knows what to say to save their relationship, so they don’t say anything. 

* * *

Ever since she was a child, Yennefer knew she was too much for people. Too much for her parents, too much for her teachers, too much for her employers. People have never known how to handle her, how to handle her ambition. As she got older, it didn’t go away. It followed her even now into her career. 

“Too political,” they whisper about her as if being political wasn’t her fucking job. 

“Too angry,” as if she had no right to be, watching the incompetent ass holes running the country practically drive it into the ground, refusing to admit they were wrong when faced with their own mistakes. 

“Too emotionless and frigid,” as if the second she expresses a single emotion, they wouldn’t be upon her, yelling that she is too emotional for politics and that she shouldn't be there, in some sort of sick game that she could never win no matter what she did. 

“Too ambitious,” as if it was wrong for her to want something more in this life. 

She is used to being praised and hated alike. She is used to adoring art from the youth, wonderfully drawn despite their age, and she is used to cartoons depicting her as some sort of demon from hell. It doesn’t help that her eyes seem to convince them of this, a bright purple hue. 

Her entire life she has been too much for someone. Geralt had been the exception, but that’s all fucked up now, with almost no hope of salvaging it. He is the only one who ever loved her despite her too-muchness. 

This is why she is so shocked that the young busker sings her praises every day as she walks by. 

She is too much for him; she can hear it in his songs. He sings of her power, of her influence, of her political prowess in the face of the savages. He sings of her being too much, but he romanticizes it instead, making it seem like ‘too much’ is ‘just enough’ for the country. 

She has never had this happen before, hasn't met someone who embraces her too-muchness rather than scorn it. She hasn’t met anyone else who is willing to challenge it with their own as well. 

The thing is, she can see that this young man is too much for people. He is too much for even her. He is too bright and sunny, too sweet, too goofy. He falls in love too fast and too hard, then falls out of it too quickly. He wears too bright clothing and sings too many songs to too many unwilling people. 

They are both too much for people. Maybe that was why he romanticizes her in song. Because he understands what it's like to be ‘too much’ for someone and in being too much, to not be enough. 

* * *

After TAKE YOUR KID TO WORK DAY, the young singer keeps asking about Ciri. The first time he does so, approaching her with an excited “Hello Miss Yennefer! How is Ciri? Is she doing okay?” Yennefer glared at him until he backed away. What right did this young man have to know about her daughter? What right did he have to ask after her? 

(She briefly thinks that if he is so desperate to know, he could just head to the local library and dig up some old tabloids about the divorce, the divorce where Ciri hadn’t been a child, but a weapon to be used against them.) 

He continues doing it, the same way he continues singing even after Yennefer had stuck the middle finger up at him. Even after she had snarled and glared until any normal man would be sufficiently terrified. He is annoyingly persistent. It's would almost be impressive, if it didn't piss her off so much. Yennefer hates him with a passion that almost rivals the hatred she holds for the president. 

(Nothing will ever truly come close to those levels of hatred, but fuck, if he wasn’t getting there.) 

She rubs her aching eyes and turns her gaze back to the papers in front of her. She hates the way her opposition would word their papers, as if they were deliberately trying to confuse her, to catch her making a mistake. Sometimes it takes her hours to even begin to decipher what they are saying so that she could counter it with arguments of her own. 

She pointedly refuses to even begin to hum, not wishing to know what tune her thoughts would use to amuse herself. 

The phone begins to ring and she looks at the caller ID. It’s Geralt. She wonders what he wants; he barely ever calls her. 

She picks up the phone and puts on her shoulder, tilting her head so she still has both hands to continue shuffling through the papers. “What do you want?” she asks and then winces. It sounds too harsh even to her, and she wonders if this was why they could never seem to go back to the way they were if she is the one holding them back. 

(Shut the fuck up, a voice inside her head says.) 

“I have a question,” Geralt says, his voice low, sounding unsure. 

Yennefer remains silent, knowing that he will speak when he gains enough courage to do so. Years spent trying to get him to open up have proven mostly unsuccessful, but at least she understood his silences better than most. 

“I have this friend that I’ve talked to about Ciri. He wants to meet her. Are you okay with him coming with us on Saturday?” he continues after a few seconds of silence. 

Yennefer stops and puts down the papers, then grabs the phone with her hand. “What?” she hisses. 

They were heading to the beach this Saturday. They would spend some time swimming, sun tanning, then watching Ciri play around on the play structure next to the beach. Geralt would bring some food, Yennefer would bring a picnic blanket, and they would pretend they didn’t have a stifling awkwardness between them. They never had someone else to bring along; wouldn’t trust anyone enough even if they did. 

“If you don’t want it, then I’ll tell him no,” Geralt says and he almost sounds disappointed. Yennefer sighs. 

Family days were sacred, they both knew this. It was a day where they could pretend they were normal, a day that they could at least try and give Ciri a taste of what she deserves. Yennefer wonders who this young man was, and why Geralt trusts him enough to bring him along. She will admit that she is intrigued enough to consider it. 

“What’s his name?” she asks, trying to make her voice sound a little bit less harsh. 

“Julian, but he prefers Jaskier.” Geralt stops, then clarifies. “It’s a nickname. It means buttercup.” 

Buttercup. Now she just wants to meet the fool that would name himself after a poisonous flower. She wonders what kind of man would do that, willingly name himself after something so feminine. 

She sighs and relents. “If you think he’s okay, then he’s welcome along. I’ll tell Ciri,” Yennefer says. "I swear Geralt if he doesn't live up to my expectations…" she trails off, leaving it unsaid, knowing Geralt would understand. 

“Of course. Thank you, Yen,” Geralt says, and it seems like things are back to normal between them for only a brief second. Then Yennefer hangs up and turns back to her papers, and the moment passes. You could even argue that it hadn’t happened in the first place. 

She still has two hours before she walks home and passes the annoying busker on the street, and she wants to make the most of it. 

She tries not to wonder where he was that day she walked back with Ciri and he was gone. 

* * *

Yennefer holds a lot of disdain for a lot of people. She hates the men who talk over her and who interrupt her when she speaks. She hates the politicians who try to tell people what to do with their bodies, and she hates the people that seem so intent to take away other people's rights because of a single line in a book written thousands of years ago. She has so much rage tucked away inside of herself and sometimes she doesn’t know what to do with it. 

It is strange to hate someone who seems to admire her, who puts her up on a pedestal instead of despising her the way she despises them. 

There is no doubt in her mind that what she feels for the singer is hatred. Sometimes all she wants to do is snap his thin, almost delicate fingers so he couldn’t play another note. She wants him to shut up, to go away, to never come back. She wants his songs out of her head. She never wants to see him again. It is small comfort to her that she only sees him twice every five days, for the time of half a minute. It was such a little spot in her schedule, it almost doesn’t matter. 

So when she sees the young man, Jaskier, walking beside Geralt, talking animatedly, she nearly spins on her heel and walks away right there. She can't handle seeing him here, on the beach in the morning sun. He almost looks out of place, as if the only place he would ever belong is the street corner, with an empty guitar case at his feet, playing his music for money. 

“Fuck no,” she spits, before remembering her promise to not swear in front of Ciri. Ciri looks up in shock and Yennefer feels angry at the young man for provoking such a reaction from her as if it's his fault for her harsh language. 

Jaskier, which is his name, sees her and his face lights up. He bounds ahead of Geralt towards her. 

“Miss Yennefer! And lovely lady Ciri as well,” he bows and Ciri giggles. Jaskier is wearing his ugly clothes again; a pair of tan shorts with a belt, and an orange-red button-up, covered in flowers and tucked into the shorts. His hair is wild and he wears a pair of orange-tinted round glasses, turning his eyes from bluish-green to brown. Yennefer secretly mourns his only pleasing feature. He is holding a bag and his guitar on his shoulder; Yennefer hopes that he isn’t planning on singing today, though she doubts that he wouldn’t. Doesn't think she could handle it if he does. 

“Hi!” Ciri says. “Are you the Jaskier Geralt talks about all the time?” 

Jaskier's face lights up and he turns to Geralt excitably. “You talk about me?” he asks, looking like a child on Christmas day getting the exact toy he asked for from Santa. 

Yennefer feels uncomfortable. Geralt has never mentioned a Jaskier until now. She wonders what exactly Ciri knows about him. 

Geralt looks at Jaskier with a deadpan expression. “Only about how annoying you are,” he says, and Yennefer could see the uncertainty in his eyes as if he is embarrassed that he cares about someone new. Yennefer feels jealous almost. It took so long for Geralt to even smile at her when they were dating, and longer still for him to trust her completely. Why does this annoying kid get that trust so quickly? 

“I am going to ignore that insult for the fact that you have mentioned me before. And to your daughter no less! Here I thought you didn’t give two shits about me!” he states, before slapping his hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry for swearing,” he says earnestly. Yennefer nearly pukes.

“Don’t do it again,” she snaps and tries to ignore the pit in her stomach when the boy's face falls. 

“I’ll try,” he says and then turns back to Geralt. “C’mon, let's find a good spot.” His good mood is back full force as if it was never gone in the first place and Yennefer wonders what she will have to say to get him to finally lose that bright, obnoxious smile of his for good. Wonders if he would look pretty if he cried, his eyes becoming brighter than they already were. 

(What the fuck Yennefer, she thinks.) 

They find a spot towards the side, away from the other families. It is a warm day, but it is morning, so the beach isn’t too crowded yet. Yennefer pulls out the blanket and waits for Geralt to take out the food, but to her surprise, it’s Jaskier who does. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a bin of snacks. She can see some watermelon, some chips, and some pepperoni sticks. Typical beach foods. He pulls out some apples and some brownies, and Yennefer tries to pretend that they aren't her two favourite snacks. He notices her gaze and takes it as a question. 

“I helped Geralt make lunch for today. That man is hopeless in the kitchen, the only thing he can make properly are sandwiches, which isn’t that bad, sandwiches contain so many different ingredients. You could live off sandwiches forever y’ know, but why would you want to? It would get boring after a while, so I helped him.” 

He never fucking shut up. Yennefer wants to snap his neck. 

Ciri begins undressing, her swimsuit underneath her clothes. She throws her shorts and t-shirt at random, leaving Geralt to pick them up for her and runs screaming towards the water. Jaskier laughs, then he follows her, taking off his shoes to go into the ocean. 

The second Jaskier leaves Yennefer's side, she spins toward Geralt. “Him?” she hisses, feeling angry. “Out of all the people we know, you have to trust him enough to bring him along?” 

Geralt sighs. “He is a little….” He trails off, not knowing what to say. 

“Annoying? Obnoxious? Tacky?” Yennefer supplies helpfully. She tugs off her sundress to reveal a black bikini underneath and folds it up. “I pass him every single fucking day Geralt. You could have told me that I knew him.” 

Geralt's eyes widened in understanding. He has been subjected more than once to Yennefer's complaints about the singer and seems to finally connect the dots. “I didn’t know.” 

“Would you have still brought him if you did?” 

It was clear that Geralt didn’t know the answer to that himself, so Yennefer reluctantly lets it go. They both sit down on the blanket, watching as Jaskier splashes some water towards Ciri, who is laughing and screaming. Jaskier's shirt has come untucked on one side and he is dripping with water. 

“When did you meet him?” Yennefer asks, not meeting Geralt’s eyes. She doesn’t feel as angry watching them play. Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees some people pointing at the two of them, obviously recognizing them from TV. She hopes they don’t come over. 

“He approached me while I was at the bar alone. Mentioned something about Renfri. I punched him and then he followed me out.” 

Yennefer laughs. It is a wonderful mental image. She feels slightly bad about her enjoyment at the boy's pain, though not enough to stop her. 

"You let him follow you?” 

Geralt says nothing for a little bit as if choosing his next words carefully. “He grows on you. He’s annoying, loud, persistent, and stupidly naive, but-” he stops and brushes some sand from the blanket. “-he cares so much for everyone he meets. I couldn’t get rid of him.” 

Yennefer scoffs. “That’s the only reason you keep him around? Because he makes you feel like you’re cared for?” 

She tries not to let it show how much those words had hurt her. Were she and Ciri not enough for him? Had she pushed him away so much that he now felt like she didn’t care? 

As if reading her mind Geralt shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He pursues his lips, trying to find the right words. “You’ll see one day,” he finally says. 

Yennefer wrinkles her nose, praying that this would be the last time she would see the boy outside of his street corner. 

She should have known God fucking hated her. 

* * *

Jaskier is in love with Geralt. 

Any fool can see this, except maybe Geralt, but he is fucking bad with emotions and the idea that someone could ever possibly _love_ him is such a foreign concept to him. He wouldn’t be able to see it, even if it came up to him and slapped him as hard as it could. That man is as dense as rocks sometimes. But Yennefer can see it plain as day, watching as Jaskier follows after Geralt like a lovesick puppy, and doing everything short of begging for his approval and attention. The boy has even written a song about the man, putting in more effort than he ever had with Yennefer’s. 

They sit together on the blanket, Ciri eating the watermelon Jaskier cut up, getting juice all over her chin. Jaskier sits cross-legged, his clothes half dry in the sun. It's the afternoon and Yennefer is almost ready to jump off a cliff to get away from Jaskier and his incessant chatter. Her head hurts slightly, like the first few minutes before a headache hits. 

Jaskier strums his beat-up guitar, getting warmed up and now that Yennefer is closer, she can see just how worn the instrument is. It's covered in scratches and the remnants of picked off stickers. The strings are dull, but the instrument is well-loved. Jaskier handled it beautifully, almost as gently as Geralt handled his teacup that first day in the coffee shop. The only difference is that Jaskier looks like he would be someone who treats things like they’re breakable; hell, he looks half breakable himself. He looks like he is pampered, delicate, like someone who has gone his entire life getting exactly what he wanted. His old guitar doesn't look like it should be in his hands. Jaskier looks like he should be holding something shiny and new instead.

Geralt rolls his eyes as Jaskier opens his mouth to sing, but it looks fond rather than annoying. Jaskier starts singing about white hair the colour of snow and eyes like amber and knotted scars around knuckles. His voice is soft and anyone with half a brain cell can see how infatuated Jaskier is with Geralt. It's almost pathetic. 

Yennefer keeps her mouth shut and watches him play. It isn’t her secret to give. She lets the music wash over her and closes her eyes. 

* * *

Whatever hope Yennefer has about never seeing Jaskier again outside of the street corner is dashed the second she goes to drop Ciri off at Geralt's and runs into Jaskier walking up the driveway. He wears worn jeans and a baggy sweater today and his guitar is slung over his shoulder like it always is.

Ciri laughs and runs up to him, hugging him as hard a six-year-old girl possibly can. Yennefer hates how much her daughter seems to love him. Jaskier lets out a little ‘oomph’ before returning the hug with equal strength. Yennefer looks on until someone coughs behind her and she turns to see Geralt leaning against the door frame. Yennefer points at Jaskier and rolls her eyes. Geralt glares at her and Yennefer huffs. Their silent conversation ends. 

“Is he having dinner with you?” she asks, walking up to him. Ciri and Jaskier continue talking, Ciri telling him all about her day at school, while Jaskier nods and laughs along. He is remarkably good with her. 

Geralt hums in confirmation. Yennefer felt disgust bubbling up in her. She fucking hates that boy and how he seems to be slowly shoving his way into her life. 

“You should join us tonight,” Geralt says and Yennefer is so surprised, she almost drops her car keys. Geralt hadn't invited her over in so long. “He’s cooking, curry rice or some shit like that,” Geralt continues, oblivious to her disgust. 

“I’ve got work to do,” she snaps, a little harsher than she intends, but it works. Geralt doesn’t push her, only turns his head away. Ciri has finished her story and is now walking up to the door, gripping Jaskier’s hand tightly, dragging him into the house. She is saying something about showing him her room and Jaskier goes along, indulging her. 

“You’re looking as stunning as ever Miss Yennefer,” he calls behind him, looking back at her, before following Ciri up the stairs. Geralt chuckles then turns to Yennefer. 

“I’ll see you on Saturday,” he says, and Yennefer nods. She walks away from the house, hearing the door slam shut behind her and something burns in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Yennefer first met Geralt in a small coffee shop when she was eighteen years old. She was pursuing an education in political studies and he was still training to fight on TV. He held the teacup so tenderly in the booth, and she wanted him to be angry as she was. Maybe he was, he was just better at hiding it. She didn’t know then, and she wanted to. 

“You look like something is bothering you,” she said, slipping into the seat across from him. She tried to make her voice sweet, seductive even, but she didn’t think he noticed. 

She sipped at her black coffee waiting for him to respond, wondering what kind of tea he was drinking. Wonders what kind of man walks into a coffee shop and orders tea. 

He grunted and said nothing in return. His hands were bandaged, she observed. “What happened to your hands? Punch one too many walls?” she asked, gesturing to the bandages. She wanted to know what this man did if he had gotten them from fighting legally or illegally. 

Sometimes she wonders if it would have made a difference what the answer was. 

He finally looked up at her, and she nearly gasped then. She spent her life being treated like she was some kind of damn mythical creature because her natural eyes were a bright lilac colour. They set her apart from people, the only thing she had that was different. She was used to watching people who had blue, brown, even green eyes, but this was the first time she had come across someone with eyes as unique as hers. 

His eyes were yellow, and she could tell they were natural. They looked like gold to her, shining in the sunlight.

“So, what’s with the eyes?” she questioned when she got her voice back, trying not to sound too gleeful. He grunted again, stood up and walked away from her. She snarled and continued drinking her cup, wondering why she even bothered to approach him, when he sat back down, holding a plate. He had only gone to the counter to get something and Yennefer felt her anger dissipate. The anger had come too quickly to her. The plate had a steaming apple fritter on it, Yennefer's favourite and he had eaten it slowly. 

She left that coffee shop with his number and a date. Nine months later they were getting married. They had adopted Ciri a few months after, back when Ciri was just a baby. 

To her, it sometimes seemed like a fairy tale. Two souls who appeared destined for each other. They had both spent their lives being scorned and spat on, it made sense that they were together. They were two broken people who had found someone who was exactly like them, they had to fall in love. It was expected of them. Maybe that was why they had gotten married so quickly; they had found someone who knew them like no other. Of course, they were going to move too fast.

Then Ciri had entered their life and it all had been perfect. They had loved her with everything they had. Neither were good chefs, so Ciri mostly ate packaged food and takeout. Neither parent had time to clean, so their house was minimalist, to reduce the mess they had. They tried to give Ciri a good life, to take care of her like she was their own. 

(Sometimes Yennefer wondered if she was cut out to be a mother. It was all she had ever wanted as a child, to be a caretaker and when she had that choice taken away from her, it just made her all the more desperate to prove them wrong.) 

Then everything was ruined, thanks to motherfucking Renfri Shrike and that goddamn affair. And then everything went to shit. 

* * *

Jaskier becomes a permanent fixture in their life after that. Yennefer goes to pick Ciri up from Geralt’s and Jaskier is there, waving goodbye, wearing an oversized t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He smiles when he sees her, and Yennefer wants to punch him in his perfect teeth till he bleeds, until the blood flows down his chin and stains his shirt bright red. 

He continues serenading her as she walks past on her way to work, wearing his ridiculous clothes and that cheeky grin of his. The only positive was that he was improving, making his music moderately more bearable. His chords became clearer and his rhymes made more and more sense. 

She continues hating him with a fiery passion that rivalled the flames of hell. 

Jaskier doesn't always come with them on their Saturday activity. Ciri pouts and complains when he doesn't, but gets over it quickly. Yennefer loves these days when she finally spends a few hours without his songs buzzing around in her ears. She relishes in the silence more than she ever has before, now that she knows what it's like to lose it. 

When he does come with, both Geralt and Ciri seem happier and lighter because of it. Ciri smiles and laughs when Jaskier makes a fool out of himself to make her happy and in doing so endears him to Geralt more. Geralt himself seems softer, kinder, more likely to respond to sentences with actual words. It was strange how much he changed with Jaskier there. 

It both baffles and pisses Yennefer off. In all their years of marriage, it was near impossible to draw a full sentence from him. It was something that Yennefer learned to live with, Geralt's almost vow of silence. 

That was why she hates Jaskier so much. How is it fair that this eighteen-year-old boy could do something that she can’t, in such little time? How can this kid make her feel so inadequate compared to him? 

That and he is fucking annoying.

They were heading to a restaurant, planning on meeting Jaskier there. It was a fairly expensive restaurant, one of those restaurants where you have to make a reservation or you're not getting in. Yennefer had called ahead, practically spitting out “table for four please.” 

Jaskier was waiting there on the street corner outside the building, idly kicking his foot on the pavement. Geralt and Ciri weren’t there yet. Yennefer drove into the parking lot and got out of the car. She knew she looked formidable, unapproachable in her heels and perfectly tailored suit. Jaskier smiled wide when he saw her and ran to meet her.

“You look amazing Miss Yennefer,” he laughs, twirling around her. He doesn’t have his guitar today, and he looks strange, almost as weird as he did the first-day Yennefer saw him outside of his street corner. He is wearing what appears to be an attempt at dressing fancy but still looks cheap and flimsy. The slacks he wears are covered in dust and the shirt is plain. He doesn’t look right, almost looks normal. 

“And you look like you always do,” she says snidely. “Tacky.” 

He looks down at himself in surprise. “I thought I looked good.” 

“Think again.” 

He looks up at her and she can see that something has changed in his eyes. He looks pensive as if he’s re-evaluating something in his head, shifting something. He looks strangely thoughtful. Yennefer didn’t know he could think. 

“Well there is no need to be rude,” he states finally. Yennefer doesn’t say anything in return, just joins him in waiting for Geralt and Ciri. 

Geralt’s truck, a beat-up thing he has dubbed Roach, pulls into the parking lot, headlights shining. 

Geralt joins them a few minutes later, Ciri in tow. Jaskier quickly leaves Yennefer's side and throws his arms around the man in a hug, and then darts away just as quickly so Geralt couldn’t hit him. Geralt looks shocked as if he had never gotten a hug in his life. 

“Geralt, my dear. How happy I am that you are finally here!” Gone is his thoughtfulness, replaced with his usually bubbly happiness and Yennefer wonders how someone could switch that fast. “Yennefer is being mean to me,” he pouts and Geralt hums. 

“What did you say to her?” he asks, and Jaskier gasps and looks mock offended. 

“You doubt that she would insult me unprovoked? I didn’t say a word to her,” he says dramatically and puts a hand to his head and pretends to faint. “Ciri! You are the only person here I can trust.” 

Yennefer wishes she could roll her eyes, but knows Geralt would give her his signature disapproving glare, but she thinks it would almost be worth it. 

Ciri grabs his hand. “I’ll protect you,” she says, so earnestly that Yennefer's heart melts, even if it was an admission of protection for the person she hates the most in life, besides the president. 

“Thank you, my dearest Ciri,” he says, squeezing her hand. “At least someone here cares about me.” 

Geralt chuckles and Yennefer feels strangely lighthearted. She wonders if she’s sick, or if she was coming down with something. 

They enter the restaurant and Yennefer expects Jaskier to be looking around in wonder and amazement, looking at the shiny crystal chandeliers and golden pillars, the same way she tried not to when she first came here. But Jaskier doesn’t look excited, continues talking animatedly to Ciri, barely paying attention to their surroundings. 

Soft jazz music from a live band plays as they walk through, led by a snobby looking waiter, who had taken one look at Jaskier’s shabby clothing and rolled his eyes. He walks them through tables full of old, white rich people, dining on white lace tablecloths and finally stops in front of a balcony table. Candles covered the table and a bottle of wine was already chilling in some ice. 

Yennefer thanks the waiter and sits down. Much to her vexation, Jaskier sits in the seat next to her, across from Ciri. Geralt sits next to his daughter. Jaskier is still talking, telling some story about when he was a boy and had fallen down some hill and broken his wrist. 

“-and then I wasn’t allowed out of my father's sight after that!” he concludes, waving his arms around. “But you best believe that I certainly found ways to escape. I was quite the troublemaker when I was younger.” He looks at Ciri, a grin tugging at his lips. 

“Don’t be giving her ideas,” Geralt grumbles and Jaskier laughs. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear.” 

Yennefer feels the hatred in her stomach grow. My dear. Two innocent little words, but they make her blood boil. 

She briefly wonders if she is jealous, but she dismisses that thought. She doesn’t love Geralt like that anymore. She loves him, she does, but not romantically. That ship had crashed and burned, then splintered into tiny pieces on the rocks years ago. Maybe it was because for years it had just been Yennefer, Geralt and Ciri. Yennefer had other friends, but she doesn’t have a lot of time for them and Geralt was just a socially awkward loser, so it’s hard for him to make friends. 

He is too aggressive, too rude and blunt, too dry. Just like her, he is too much for people. 

But here he was now, with this pretty, extroverted young man, who seems to care about him and Ciri, who brought him out of his shell, who idolizes him. For the first time, Geralt has room in his life for another person, and Yennefer doesn't know what to think about that. 

Yennefer wishes she could do the same. 

The waiter brings out the menu and they order. Jaskier orders something small and inexpensive, and Yennefer sees how Geralt frowns at that. She has no such issues with cost, so she orders the steak and potatoes. Geralt orders something big, and they both agree that Ciri could take some food from their plate. That was what they did; put a little bit from their plate onto hers, so she didn’t have to order the big meals the restaurants provided and they wouldn’t have to take some home. 

To Yennefer's surprise, Jaskier does the same when his meal comes, putting a little bit of the pitiful salad he ordered onto Ciri's plate. She smiles at him and it feels domestic in a way. Yennefer wants to throw her wine glass at the wall in anger. She instead sips the drink carefully. It’s good wine. 

The dinner passes quickly, Jaskier filling the silence with funny stories that Ciri laughs at. Geralt remains silent, but Yennefer can see the amusement in his eyes as he watches Jaskier flail his arms about.

“So then my professor ended up using my composition as an example for the entire class. It was the greatest day of my life, I’ll tell you that,” he says, and Yennefer leans forward, suddenly interested. 

“You’ve gone to college?” she asks sweetly. She has hit a sour spot and she gleefully watches as Jaskier visibly deflates, his hands dropping to the table. 

“Yeah, for a year. Musical study.” 

“What happened?” 

He licks his lips and remains silent and Yennefer could see beyond his walls, perhaps the first time she had managed to break them down. Geralt glares at Yennefer intensely, and she was left wondering what she had said and what Geralt knows. 

“I dropped out,” Jaskier eventually replies. He doesn’t give Yennefer a chance to say something and instead turns to Ciri, his demeanour brightening, his walls coming back up quickly, like walls slamming shut. Yennefer feels disappointed. “I expect you to go to college for the entire time though,” he says, wiggling his fingers. “You have to get a good education, so you can become a politician, like your mother. Don’t do what I did.”

“What if I want to be like you?” Ciri asks and Jaskier melts, looking genuinely happy. 

“While that is undoubtedly the greatest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he exclaims, “I am certainly not the best role model for you.” 

“Oh,” Ciri says and droops. Yennefer can see her face fall and she glares at Jaskier, silently telling him to fix it. 

“Well, you can be like me, study musical theory” Jaskier quickly amends. “Just make sure that you finish college, okay? Or university, it doesn’t matter.” He pats her head, then brightens up. “Hey, I know! Why don’t I teach you how to play the guitar?” 

“No,” Yennefer yells the second Ciri says “Yes!” 

Yennefer looks at Geralt for backup and Geralt looks away, not willing to enter the conversation. She snarls under the breath and instead turns in her seat to look at Jaskier fully. 

“You are not teaching my daughter any kind of musical instrument.” 

“What?” Jaskier and Ciri say at the same time. Ciri looks so disappointed as she gets out of her seat and walks around the table to her mother. 

“Please mom,” she begs, clasping her hands together. Jaskier looks at her too, silently begging and Yennefer feels her resolve start to crumble. She wishes that she wasn’t so weak in the face of her daughter. 

“I already have to listen to your music every day as I walk by,” she growls, trying to remain firm, even though she already knows what her answer will be. “I don’t want to hear it at my house as well.” 

“So don’t,” Jaskier exclaims. “We’ll do lessons at Geralt’s house, right Geralt?” He looks at Geralt to confirm and Geralt looks like he is about to protest, until he catches the look on Ciri's face and Yennefer can see him crumble and give in the way she does. 

“Fine,” he mutters, and Jaskier and Ciri let out a little cheer. Some of the neighbouring tables glance over at them in disapproval, and Yennefer glares at them until they look away again. 

“Okay,” she relents, feeling angry at herself. Ciri throws her arms around Yennefer, then heads back to her seat and continues eating. Jaskier is vibrating in his seat, his leg bouncing wildly under the table. “But! It will not be in my house, got it?” she says firmly. 

Jaskier and Ciri nod frantically and Yennefer relaxes back in her seat. She momentarily forgets all about her original question, about Jaskier’s college education. It doesn’t mean important now. 

The dinner passes quickly and eventually, it’s time to go. Yennefer stands up and takes Ciri’s hand. They walk out of the restaurant, leaving Geralt and Jaskier to pay. They wait out on the sidewalk and through the giant glass windows, Yennefer watches as Jaskier pulls out some crumpled bills from his pocket. She watches how Geralt shakes his head and pulls out his wallet, pushing the bills away. They fight for a minute, silent through the window before Jaskier gives in and allows Geralt to pay for the entire meal. 

“Mom, I can’t wait to learn how to play,” Ciri rambles, and Yennefer's attention is torn away from the window. 

“Uh-huh,” she says absentmindedly, still a little bitter. A few moments later, Jaskier and Geralt join them on the sidewalk. It is night already and the stars above them twinkle. The city is still loud though, and the echo of police sirens fill the night. 

“Thank you so much for dinner,” Jaskier says gratefully and Yennefer nods at him. Ciri hugs Jaskier again and he returns it. 

“We can drive you home,” Geralt offers and Jaskiers face turns to fear for a minute before his usual smile settles on his face, a very convincing mask. 

“No no, that's very kind of you, but I have already imposed enough on you. I couldn’t possibly allow you to do this as well.” 

Yennefer glances at Geralt and from the way he is frowning at Jaskier, she can tell she isn’t the only one who noticed his strange change in mood. 

“Alright,” Geralt says, not willing to fight it. He comes forward and shakes Jaskier's hand. “I’ll see you soon then. Thanks for joining us.” 

Jaskier returns the handshake. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

Geralt turns away and gestures for Ciri to follow him to Roach. Yennefer and Jaskier watch as they get into Geralt's truck. They drove away, waving at the two of them and then they were left alone. Yennefer is still boiling, and she wants to yell at Jaskier, but they are still near the restaurant, so she keeps her emotions in check. 

“Well, goodbye Miss Yennefer,” Jaskier says, bowing his head, before walking away into the night. He whistles a little tune under his breath, and Yennefer grits her teeth. 

She watches him leave, then gets into her car and doesn’t think about where Jaskier could be going. 

* * *

She is at work when it happens and she throws the pencil across the room in anger when she realizes that she was singing one of Jaskier’s songs quietly under her breath without even realizing it. 

It isn’t him, she thinks. It’s his songs. He is getting better and she spends all day listening to his voice. Of course, they would be stuck in her head. 

* * *

Ciri takes to the guitar remarkably fast. 

Geralt goes out and buys her a new one for her lessons to make it easier for Jaskier to show her the chords. The wood is shiny and smooth and the strings gleam brightly. It’s a little bit big for Ciri, but Jaskier reassures her she will grow into it. 

It looks weird, Jaskier showing Ciri the notes on his old guitar, while she was holding one that is bright and new. The contract between the two is clear. 

It’s just like Yennefer imagined it to be. Ciri doesn’t have lessons when she is at Yennefer's house, but she brings the guitar along with her and practises using music sheets Jaskier prints out for her. Yennefer spends many afternoons trying to drown out the sounds of music coming from Ciri’s room to get some work done without thinking of Jaskier. 

It has been a few weeks since Ciri started her lessons when Yennefer runs into Jaskier again. She has been trying to ignore him, trying to limit their interactions to the brief minute they see each other at the street corner and the few times Jaskier accompanies them on their activities, but it is unavoidable. 

Yennefer enters Geralt’s house and locks eyes with Jaskier, guiding Ciri’s fingers over the strings, speaking in soft, hushed tones. He smiles briefly at her, then returns to helping Ciri. Ciri is closely following along, trying to match his notes. 

“The lessons are almost done,” Geralt says next to her. 

“How much are you paying him?” Yennefer asks. Ciri messes up on a note and Jaskier fixes her positioning, urging her to try again. 

“Ten dollars per hour,” Geralt replies. “He tried to do it for free, but I wouldn’t let him.” 

Yennefer snorts. “Why not? He’s the one offering.” 

Geralt looks at her with something akin to pity in his eyes and Yennefer finds herself growing angry under it as if he knows something she doesn’t. 

“What?” she snaps. Geralt doesn’t get a chance to reply. Ciri has finished her music lessons and is running up to Yennefer, hugging her. Yennefer wraps her arms around Ciri and feels some of the anger dissipate with her daughter in her arms. 

“Hi mom,” Ciri exclaims excitedly. “Did you hear me playing?” 

Yennefer tries to soften her voice for Ciri, careful not to show her any of the anger Yennefer feels. “I did, you’re getting better. Soon you’ll be better than even Jaskier.” 

Not like it was hard, she thinks privately. 

She looks around, trying to spot him. She spies him in the corner, unplugging his phone and pocketing the cord. He walks over to them and greets Yennefer with a nod of his head. 

“Good morning Yennefer,” he says, and Yennefer returns the sentiment politely, however reluctantly. 

“How are the lessons?” she asks and Jaskier brightens considerably, looking incredibly proud of Ciri. 

“They’re going incredibly well,” he says, beaming. He reaches over and ruffles Ciri’s head. She swats at his hand uselessly. “This little one is remarkably talented. I’m surprised just how fast she is progressing. I fear that if I continue she will soon become better than me.” 

“That’s what I said,” she says smugly, grinning at the betrayed look Jaskier sends her. 

“Well, that’s just mean,” he sputters. He pulls out his phone, still muttering about “tone-deaf witches", which makes Yennefer scoff. “Hang on. I have a video of her playing,” Jaskier says, turning on the phone. Yennefer catches the colours blue, purple, and pink before he signs on, and the picture disappears. 

“Nice background,” she comments, trying to sound sarcastic, but curious too. She thinks she recognizes the colours. He looks at her strangely and turns the phone off again, then flips it to show her the picture. 

It looks like it was taken in June, the sky blue and cloudless. Jaskier looks younger in this picture; he looks softer almost, most likely sixteen. His cheeks are smeared with blue, purple and pink in a little bisexual flag painted on. He has an arm wrapped around him, but whoever else is there with him is cropped out of the picture. Jaskier is smiling, looking carefree and happy like he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

“It was taken at pride about two years ago,” Jaskier comments. She looks at him and he visibly straightens his shoulders and tenses. He meets her gaze with a mask of false bravery. “I’m bisexual,” he states. He looks like he is expecting her to be disgusted, and Yennefer wants to meet the people who made him feel like he has to put his mental armour on when he confesses his sexuality. 

(Not because she cares about him, but because she tries her best to support the LGBT+ youth of the country and Jaskier fell under that category.) 

“Yeah, I don’t care about that,” Yennefer says, then feels Geralt shove her gently in the side. Jaskier looks shocked and she tries to mend her statement. “I mean, I don’t care if you are or not, it doesn’t matter to me.” 

Jaskier relaxes. “Well, that’s good.”

“Who is with you in the picture?” Ciri interrupts, grabbing his phone and looking at it herself. She tilts it as if moving around the phone would give her a better angle. 

“A dirty, cheating, rotten, lying douche bag who I hope gets a heart attack and dies,” Jaskier says mildly and Yennefer can’t help herself: she snorts in amusement. Jaskier looks at her, happy he made her laugh. “His name is Valdo Marx. He’s an ex-boyfriend of mine. We broke up a while ago.” He sighs. “I don’t have any other good pictures to use from that event, so I just cropped him out.” 

Geralt hums. Jaskier takes the phone back from Ciri and logs on again to find the video to show them. 

* * *

“Hello there Miss Yennefer,” Jaskier calls to her from the sidewalk. 

Yennefer rolls her eyes and speeds up, trying to get by as fast as possible. A voice from behind her stops her. 

“Wait, wait, wait-” Jaskier says and runs after her. “Slow down. I have a gift for Ciri.” 

She stops at that, knowing full well Ciri is her weakness and that everyone knows it. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a yellow paper flower. It was small, but obviously, someone had worked hard on it. He grabs her hand and she doesn’t stop him, and he drops the flower into her palm. 

Jaskier notices her questioning look and laughs. “I was talking to Ciri and accidentally mentioned that my name isn’t Jaskier, it’s Julian. So I told her about my nickname and how it means buttercup in Polish. That’s what the flower is. A buttercup.” 

He looks childishly excited over a tiny fake flower. Yennefer resists the urge to crush the flimsy paper in her grasp. 

“I’ll make sure to give it to her,” she says simply, before walking away. She hears Jaskier run back to his corner and start strumming again, entertaining the people who pass by. 

Ciri loves the gift; of course, she does. She puts it on her dresser and asks Yennefer if she could learn origami to return the favour. 

(She Googles it, and tries to teach for her because of course, she does.) 

* * *

Jaskier turns nineteen. 

He announces it one sunny Saturday afternoon. They are walking around the city, loaded down with bags from various clothing stores. Jaskier holds all of Ciri’s as she skips beside him. 

Yennefer is wearing a pair of giant sunglasses and Geralt has his hair pulled up in a ponytail. They were trying to remain unrecognizable, but it wasn’t working. People still stop and stare, though who it was at, Yennefer didn’t know. Jaskier doesn’t seem to notice the attention, keeping his gaze focused on Ciri. 

They are heading towards Geralt’s truck, done shopping for the day when Jaskier tells them. 

“Yesterday was my birthday,” he says plainly, as he was commenting on the weather. 

Ciri looks at him in shock. “And you didn’t tell us? We could have had a party.” She looks so offended as if the idea that Jaskier didn’t tell them is the worst thing ever. 

Jaskier chuckles. “It’s fine, I don’t need a party. I don’t think your mom would have liked that very much either.” 

Well, he’s right about one thing. 

Ciri pouts. “Well, happy late birthday then.” 

“Thanks, Ciri,” Jaskier says. He catches sight of the look on Yennefer and Geralt's faces and laughs. “What's that look for?” 

“You could have told us,” Geralt responds gruffly. “We could have done something for you.” 

“It’s not a big deal, my dear,” Jaskier says, waving his hand dismissively. The bags on his arms ruffle slightly at the movement. “I just thought that someone should know, y’ know?” 

They reach the truck and Jaskier helps Ciri up, then puts the bags in after her. He steps up, about to go in after her, when Geralt grips his waist and tugs him down roughly. 

“What the hell Geralt,” Jaskier wheezes, Geralt's arm uncomfortably tight against his waist. Yennefer could see him turn bright red. Whether it was from the lack of air or the proximity of the man that causes it, she doesn’t know. 

“What do you want?” Geralt asks, letting him go. Jaskier steadies himself on the truck, breathing air back into his lungs. 

“Well I most certainly didn’t want to be manhandled,” Jaskier exclaimed and Yennefer thinks that might be a lie. He coughs slightly. Geralt looks slightly guilty. Ciri watches from the open door of the truck, legs dangling out, moving back and forth slowly. Geralt huffs. 

“I’m serious.” 

“So am I,” Jaskier says. “I don’t need anything Geralt, I promise. You guys still think I’m eighteen, I thought I should fix that.” 

“For fucks sake you idiot,” Yennefer snarls at last. She hears Ciri gasp and she feels slightly bad about her language, but it’s too late to take it back now. “It was your birthday yesterday, you should have said something. You could have at least gotten a cake.” 

The thing is, Yennefer hasn’t had the best childhood. Her father and mother were cruel and beat her, and she spent her life being bullied for her eyes. She never got a birthday before when she was younger, wasn’t deemed important enough for it. That’s why she makes sure to celebrate every year for Ciri because she never wants her daughter to feel the way she did. 

Never wants any child to feel like that. 

She hates Jaskier. She hates his eyes - his brilliant eyes - she hates his voice, she hates his fashion sense, she hates the fact that he has wormed his way into their family so easily. But she can’t help but still view him as a child, a child that had _something_ happen to him, and she weirdly wanted to make it better. She hates him, but she doesn’t want him to feel the way she used to. 

Jaskier looks at her in shock and it’s clear he expected her not to care. She glares at him until he looks away. 

“I’m sorry I guess,” he says quietly, the quietest Yennefer has heard him be. “I didn’t think it was important.” She glares at him for a few more seconds, before looking away. She turns to Geralt. 

“I’ll go pick something up, you take them home. I’ll take a taxi,” she says and Geralt nods in agreement. She hands him her bags and he puts them next to Ciri, who puts on her seat belt. He gestures for Jaskier to get into the passenger seat of the truck, and then gets in himself and turns on the vehicle. 

Yennefer watches him drive off, then marches back down the street, trying to find a bakery. She was thinking chocolate cake would be best for Jaskier, the fucking annoying busker who was now apparently officially part of their family

* * *

After his late birthday party, which consisted of them eating large amounts of cake and Chinese food, then drinking wine and gossiping at Geralt's house (Yennefer knows Geralt hates wine, but there was still a bottle in the fridge. Yennefer tries not to think of who exactly it was for and how Geralt had never done that for her), Jaskier seems to be more open with the two of them. It was as if he had been subconsciously holding a piece of himself back, that was released with the notion that maybe, just maybe, this family cared about him as much as he did them. 

It was well over eight months of knowing Jaskier officially when Geralt tells them he needs to leave. They were over at Geralt’s house on a Saturday, playing cards. Yennefer was kicking both of their asses and they were lucky they hadn’t bet money on it. 

“Where to?” Jaskier asks, shuffling the deck. 

“Germany. They want me to do some competition up there,” Geralt replies. “I’ll be away for a month.” 

“That sounds awesome,” Jaskier says and Yennefer wrinkles her nose. Jaskier begins passing the cards out to the three of them. “I’m sure you’re going to kick all their asses.” 

Geralt winces. 

“I guess I’ll be taking Ciri then,” Yennefer drawls, taking a sip of wine. It is late out and Ciri had been sent to bed an hour ago. Geralt nods. Jaskier continues handing out the cards but stops suddenly as if he just realized something. 

“That means that I won’t be able to give Ciri lessons,” he whines. 

“You can continue them after I come back,” Geralt says. 

“But that won’t work,” Jaskier whines again. Yennefer grits her teeth together and silently prays for a lightning bolt to come down from the heavens and to shut him up. “The first few years are incredibly important. You don’t know what she could forget in a month. I’ll have to re-teach her everything.” 

“You’re exaggerating,” she says, finishing her glass.

“Okay maybe I am, but my point stands! She still needs to continue her lessons and I won’t be able to do that while she’s at Yennefers.” 

“Yennefer, let him into your house,” Geralt demands and Yennefer meets his gaze evenly. 

“Fuck no,” she spits. “I’m not letting that idiot into my house.” 

“Bold of you to assume I even want to go over there anyway,” Jaskier mutters. “It’s probably filled with dead bodies and witchy ingredients anyway.” He shudders and she bares her teeth at him. 

“Fine,” Geralt relents. “Then we’ll just let Ciri go over to your place instead after school.” 

A flash of fear fills Jaskier's face. “That is a terrible idea,” he states. He finishes handing out the cards but doesn’t pick up his deck. Neither does Geralt or Yennefer. “My place is not fit for a child, no sirree.” 

Yennefer squints at him, trying to figure something out and pieces start fitting into place. His insistence on picking the most inexpensive dish back at the restaurant, and why he is even out on the street in the first place is suddenly making sense. 

“Why isn’t it safe for Ciri?” Geralt asks, crossing his arms. He looks fiercely protective, looking ready to pull Jaskier away from whatever dangers he faces at his place that he refuses to let Ciri see. He can't see it yet. 

Jaskier flounders, trying to find a good lie. “I- just its, um-” 

“Do you even have a place to live?” Yennefer demands, interrupting him, and Jaskier snaps his mouth shut. He is silent, and it doesn’t look right on him, the quiet. Yennefer takes a moment to appreciate the silence privately. 

Geralt looks shocked as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility that Jaskier could be homeless and he opens his mouth, before shutting it again. His teeth clank together. 

“I do have a place to live-” Jaskier says before Yennefer interrupts. 

“How long have you had it?” 

Jaskier looks down and mutters something too quiet for Yennefer to hear. She leans forward and waves her hand, trying to get him to speak up. 

“I said I’ve had it for a week,” he says louder and Yennefer suspected it, but she certainly wasn’t ready to hear it. She has known him officially for eight months; she has seen him on that street corner every week for ten. 

Geralt looks like he has just been punched and Jaskier hurries to fix it, waving his hands wildly. 

“My friend was waiting until she finished college to move out of her parent's place and she said that when she did, she would let me move in along with some other people, and well, she finally got something.” He is shaking, Yennefer sees, his hands trembling. “It’s easier now that I have a few roommates to share rent with and somewhere safe to put my things. I’m fine, I swear.” 

Geralt looks pained. “Nine months I’ve known you,” he says. “Fuck. I should have seen, I should have helped you. I knew you didn’t have much money, but fuck Jaskier, I could have helped. Do you not trust me?” 

So that was why Geralt insisted on paying for lessons. It makes more sense to Yennefer now. 

Jaskier leaps up. “Of course I trust you,” he yells, pacing around the table. Yennefer and Geralt get up to follow him into the kitchen. The cards lay forgotten on the table. “I didn’t become friends with you because I wanted your money Geralt, I don’t want to use you like that.” 

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Geralt says, his fists clenching. His voice is strained and he is pissed. Yennefer feels the same. “You didn’t have to live out on the streets.” 

“I didn’t,” Jaskier exclaims. “Often,” he continues sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “I did a lot of couch surfing and sometimes I would meet someone who thought I was pretty and I would sleep with them and get a free room for the night!” 

Yennefer is reminded of bruises on his neck when she saw him on the street some days, and it makes her angrier, the idea that someone would have to practically prostitute himself for a place to live. 

Geralt groans. “Fuck Jaskier,” he mutters under his breath. 

Jaskier sighs. “I have an apartment now, don’t worry, it’s just full of people. Not good people though. You wouldn’t want them around Ciri, trust me.” 

Yennefer watched them argue, contemplating. “Why were you homeless?” she asks finally. Geralt and Jaskier look at her and she starts to explain. “I mean, you come from money. You wear expensive clothes and weren’t at all phased in that restaurant before. I wondered, but it makes sense.” 

“My dad is rich,” Jaskier says, sounding angry. “He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, to be like him, to go to law school. I went to college, and I went into musical studies instead. During the semester change, I came out to him as bisexual. I was still dating Valdo back then. He yelled and screamed at me to get out. I grabbed a handful of clothes and whatever else I could and got out of there. He cut me off a few days later. I wasn’t able to continue paying for school and had to drop out.” He laughs bitterly, sounding close to tears. “I went to Valdo for help, but he didn’t want anything to do with me. Didn’t care at all. I spat in his face and walked away.” 

Yennefer feels rage boil up in her veins. 

She doesn’t care about Jaskier. She doesn’t. She just thinks that no one deserves to be treated like that, kicked out for falling in love. 

She wants to find Jaskier’s father and tear him to shreds. She wants to find Valdo Marx and make him regret leaving Jaskier like that, to fend for himself. She knows that Geralt would help her too. 

“You didn’t deserve that,” she murmurs. 

“Yeah, no shit.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I’m sorry, that was aggressive. I just, I know it’s not something I deserved. I’m not wrong for loving men as much as women. I just wish my dad knew that too.” 

It is nighttime and the cards are forgotten on the table. Yennefer doesn’t want to play anymore anyway. She already kicked their ass, and now there is something more important to talk about. 

“You can stay here for the night,” Geralt says softly, reaching for Jaskiers shoulder. “It is too dark to be walking back by yourself.” 

“You don’t need to do that. I have an apartment now. You don’t have to house me just because you feel bad for me.” 

“You said that the people you’re staying with aren’t good Jaskier. You shouldn’t have to go back,” Geralt points out and Jaskier can’t say anything back. 

In the end, Jaskier ends up staying, taking residence in the guest room. Geralt leads him upstairs and gives him a spare change of clothes from his closet. The two are almost the same height, but Jaskier is slimmer and the shirt hangs off him limply.

Yennefer watches him flit around the guest room, plugging in his phone and setting his guitar down. He flops on the bed, and he looks so young in Geralt's clothes. She tries not to think of him after he was first kicked out, probably seventeen lost and alone on the streets, with no one he could turn to. She stays silent for a few seconds, before speaking up. 

“Hey.” 

He turns quickly, looking startled. “What?” 

“You’re welcome over on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 5:00 pm for lessons. That’s it.” 

From the way his face lights up, Yennefer knows she has made the right decision. It appears that her pity for him extends as far as letting him willingly into her house to play his annoying music. She wonders if that is good enough payment; her house after being kicked out of his own. 

Fuck, she’s getting soft. 

* * *

Yennefer walks the same route every single workday. Somehow she has never noticed the tiny thrift shop nestled between a banker and a physiotherapist. 

Well, she certainly notices today. 

That has got to be the ugliest shirt she has ever seen sitting on display. She is looking through the window, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, probably getting in the way of everyone, but she can’t stop staring at how fucking ugly it is. 

It’s a bright purple button-up shirt, with blue and green polka dots. The buttons are shiny copper. The lights hit them directly from this angle and nearly blinds Yennerfer on the spot. Truly, it's hideous. Disgusting. A fashion nightmare. Never should have been created in the first place. 

Jaskier would fucking love it. 

(Yennefer tries not to think about how it would probably look good on him too, the prick.) 

“Hey, get outta the road,” someone yells and Yennefer flips them off at random. She hears someone's camera shutter and knows that the picture of her flipping someone off would be all over the internet tomorrow, but she doesn’t care. All she is concerned about was how fucking ugly that shirt is, and how Jaskier would probably adore it. 

She wonders if she should buy it for him. 

On one hand, it looks like it was made for him. She knows for a fact that Jaskier owns a pair of jeans that would make this shirt not look as ugly as they could. It would be a shame to not give him the shirt. 

On the other hand, it might make him think that she gives a shit about him and that is the last thing she wants, Jaskier thinking she cares about him. 

It’s the internal conflict within herself; does she buy something that was made to be worn by Jaskier, risking him thinking she holds an emotion for him? Or does she leave and spend her days knowing that someone out there was wearing that shirt, no doubt not as well as Jaskier ever could. 

She buys the fucking shirt. 

She shoves it at him roughly when she sees him the next day, causing him to stumble slightly. 

“So rough,” Jaskier teases, winking at her. They are at her apartment. Jaskier just finished Ciri’s lessons for the week. Ciri is upstairs, the sounds of her guitar still sounding through the air as she continues to practice even without Jaskier's guidance. Geralt is coming back from Germany in four days. It couldn’t happen soon enough for Yennefer. 

“Just take the damn thing,” she says, looking away. She goes into the kitchen, leaving him standing in the entryway. She doesn’t feel like cooking today, so she picks up the phone to order Chinese food again 

She finishes the order and hangs up, then suddenly Jaskier is there, right in front of her. He is clutching the shirt tightly and is smiling so widely, Yennefer's cheeks hurt just from looking at him. 

“Thank you so much Yen, this is amazing. I love it already!” he babbles, looking so childishly happy. She turns away in disgust and ignores the warmth blooming in her chest. 

“Don’t ever call me that again,” she growls and stomps away. 

The next time she sees him on his street corner, he is wearing that shirt, in the exact jeans, Yennefer thought he would wear. She was right; it’s the ugliest fucking thing she has ever seen and he somehow makes it look amazing. 

It’s jealousy rising in her chest, she thinks, as she looks away from his smiling face, as he continues to serenade her as she walks by. Jealousy that someone who was so fucking annoying could look so good in such an ugly shirt. 

* * *

Geralt comes back from Germany victorious. 

Jaskier runs up to him at the airport and throws his arms around him, practically leaping at him. Ciri is not far behind. Geralt brings his arms to wrap around Jaskier, dropping his suitcase. Ciri wraps her arms around both their legs, trapping them together. Yennefer follows behind leisurely, her heels clicking on the airport floor. 

“-and you did so amazingly,” she can hear Jaskier ramble excitably. “The way you took out that one guy? Fabulous.” Geralt snorts and fondly shakes his head. He eventually lets go of Jaskier and he steps away. Ciri makes grabby fingers and Geralt obliges, picking her up. 

“I missed you, daddy,” she says, tucking her face into his neck. Geralt holds her tighter and Yennefer can see that he missed her as much as she missed him. 

“Let's go home,” he tells her and Jaskier picks up Geralt's bags, nearly pitching over under the weight of them. Yennefer laughs at him and follows them out of the airport, feeling weirdly whole again. 

* * *

The next day the trending headline is “Geralt Rivia: Secret Lover??” with a picture of him and Jaskier hugging in the airport. The next top one is “Inside The Hidden Thoughts of Yennefer Vengerberg, A Lover Scorned” with an image of her scowling underneath. Some photographers had been there during their tearful reunion at the airport and thought that it would be okay to take a few pictures. 

Yennefer puts down the phone and puts her head into her hands. “Fuck,” she breathes. 

* * *

Ciri was adopted as a baby girl by Geralt and Yennefer. They were still young, but they qualified and they were soon the proud parents of baby Ciri. 

Her parents and grandparents were dead. Killed in a car crash that killed fifty others. The car was in the way of a bus and they collided, exploding into flames. It had been ghastly. Ciri had been at home, with a babysitter, suddenly an orphan. 

She was too young to remember the accident, barely nine months old. She has never known who Pavetta or Calathe were. All she knew were their names and faces from an old news article Yennefer printed for her. 

Yennefer had loved her from the moment she first saw the baby, wrapped in a soft cotton blanket. Geralt had to, but he never wanted a daughter in the first place. Ciri may have changed his mind, but he never wanted to be a father. They had fought over it many times; Yennefer wanted to be a mother, Geralt didn’t trust himself to be good enough for a baby. Geralt had lost that argument, had relented against Yennefer determination. 

He took to parenthood as a baby bird took to flying. He was shaky, unsure at the beginning; more than once he had consulted the parenting books, reading through them intently, holding a crying baby Ciri. But he soon grew more comfortable and now Yennefer didn’t know a better father than him. 

(The bar was fucking low though; she only knew her father, Geralt’s father, Jaskier’s father and every single father of the disgraced youth of the country. She dealt with them regularly and she pitied those who had to call them ‘dad’) 

The thing is, Yennefer wanted a child because she couldn’t have one. She was infertile and pissed. She didn’t like being told what to do, and now that she was older and wiser, she knew that was a shitty reason to adopt a child. But she had been young, bitter, and spiteful, desperate to prove the world wrong and she dragged Geralt down with her. 

She likes to think that despite her incredibly horrid reason for adopting Ciri, she was still a good mother. She couldn’t cook or clean, but she knew that wasn’t the criteria for femininity and motherhood, and she likes it to think she taught Ciri a lot about more important things. She heard stories of mothers throwing their children away when they didn’t have a use for them anymore and Yennefer knew that she would never have done that; Ciri was no longer a way to prove to the world that she could do anything she wanted, but her daughter. Yennefer still felt that intense desire to prove them all wrong, but now she knew she could never do that at the expense of her child. 

Ciri was important to her; she was important to Geralt; and weirdly enough, she was also important to an annoying street busker that wouldn’t leave them alone until he had made his home inside their family. 

* * *

They’re sitting outside of an outdoor arena, waiting for the music to start. It’s Saturday and Jaskier had the honour of choosing what to do for an activity. He had automatically shown them a flyer advertising a local folk band he listened to who was performing that day. Begrudgingly they had agreed, already regretting letting him choose. 

“Now Ciri,” Jaskier was saying in front of them. He wore a baggy leather jacket, stolen from Geralt and jeans imprinted with colourful flowers. Yennefer could see some people in the crowd whispering about them. Jaskier's clothing choice wasn’t helping the rumours that he and Geralt were dating and Yennefer knew that would be the top headline tomorrow. She could see someone take a picture of them, and she desperately wanted to flip him off. Sometimes she wished she didn’t have a reputation to ruin further. “I want you to pay attention to how this man uses the guitar. Watch how his fingers move okay?” 

“Got it,” Ciri says and Jaskier nods. 

On stage, the band warms up and a few chords echo around the arena. 

“I’ve been a fan of them for years,” he says, leaning back in his seat to look up at Geralt and Yennefer, who were seated behind them. “I’m really glad that they are getting more attention. They deserve it.” 

The band starts singing and Yennefer begrudgingly admits in the privacy of her mind that they were good. They sang of muddy water and freshwater mermaids and their bird winged lovers. They sang of mischievous foxes and their dens full of friendly mice and the audience claps along. Yennefer privately thinks that this is music that Jaskier would enjoy. There was something so undeniably _Jaskier_ in their music, present in every note they played. She could so clearly see a younger Jaskier cross-legged on his bed, headphones plugged in, watching them on YouTube, swaying gently to the music, trying to mimic the hand movements of the main guitarist. She realizes that was probably how he learned to play in the first place. From what she knew about Jaskier's father, he would have never let his child learn to play. 

The band takes them through a series of interconnected songs, telling the tale of a woman who fell in love with a man, and when the man died, vowed war on those who had taken him from her. You couldn’t fight time, Yennefer thought, listening, but the woman made it possible, waging war against the clocks. It ended with the woman living in a world of her own making, her husband waiting for her, preserved in time forever, content to be together. Yennefer looks over at Ciri, who is leaned forward in her chair, looking enthralled with the music. Jaskier looks equally as interested, even though he had probably heard every song ten thousand times before.

“Someday I hope I’m like them,” Jaskier says over the music, so quietly Yennefer has to strain to hear. 

She settles back to think about it. She knows Jaskier wants a career in music, and it’s foolish to think that he would always be there, in his street corner, playing his music, but she wonders how he would make it so. 

“Someday,” she says back to him, then turns her thoughts back to the music. 

When she gets home that night, Ciri heading home with Geralt, she goes to Google and searches up the band. She reads their story, their memoir, and wonders if that would someday be Jaskier she would be reading about. 

* * *

Jaskier knows that rumours are circulating the internet about his and Geralt’s ‘supposed’ relationship. He shows them a news article, reading it aloud while Yennefer and Geralt sit on the table, doing work. Jaskier sits cross-legged on the counter, ignoring the perfectly fine chair available, and Yennefer wonders if that was just another thing he did. Geralt was occasionally letting out a hum of confirmation, while Yennefer was doing her hardest to block out Jaskier’s voice. 

“Geralt. Geralt! Are you listening to me?” Jaskier says, sounding petulant. He pouts and turns off his phone. “Well, I guess I’ll never say anything again if my voice isn’t appreciated here.” 

“Thank fuck,” Yennefer mutters and Geralt snorts. 

“How long do you think he’ll last under his supposed vow of silence?” Geralt asks, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I’m betting for five minutes.” 

“Oh, probably less than that,” Yennefer says and laughs when Jaskier lets out an offended “Hey!” before slapping his hands over his mouth, fully aware he just proved Yennefer correct. 

Idiot, she thinks. 

Jaskier’s guitar is propped up against the wall and he has been staying with Geralt for the last few days. Yennefer is silently pleased with that; she didn’t trust the people in Jaskier’s apartment, especially when he had come around one day with bruises around his thin wrist, as if someone had gripped them tightly and shoved him into a wall. Geralt had been restless that day, constantly tapping his fingers against the table, as he wanted to do something else. Yennefer had been about the same. She wonders if they should call the police, but Jaskier isn’t saying anything, a remarkable feat for him, so they remained quiet on the issue. 

Jaskier sighs. “I wonder why they think we’re together,” he says idly. “It's not like we’ve done anything to make them think that.”

“That’s the internet for you,” Yennefer says, marking something down on her paper, before turning back to her computer. She doesn't even look at him as she talks, focused instead on her work. She was trying to get a new bill passed and was writing an incredibly important letter. She didn't need any distractions. “They find ways to twist anything into new, exciting headlines for the public. They would latch onto this.” Beside her, Geralt grunts in agreement. 

“They don’t even know who I am though,” Jaskier whines. 

“Well, start preparing for them too.” She looks up from her work to stare into his brightly coloured eyes and fuck, she’ll never be over the way they seemed to change in the light. Right now, they look like brilliant blue, almost cornflower. “Good luck dealing with the nosy journalists.” 

She heard him mutter something under her breath, but she couldn't hear it.

* * *

Jaskier is twenty now and he still looks the way he did when Yennefer first saw him on that street corner, newly eighteen. He still wears his disgustingly bright and tacky clothes and sometimes he shows up to Geralt’s place with bruises on his arms, but he reassures them he is fine. He still has a clean, shaven face, and his voice is still as sweet as sugar. 

He continues Ciri’s lessons, but now she is playing full songs, nearly keeping up with Jaskier. He praises her every time and she beams. She looks up to him, Yennefer knows. She wants to impress him, to make him proud, and Jaskier is. 

They have known Jaskier for almost two years when Ciri asks if he could come with them up to the mountains this year. 

Every year, the family rents a cabin up in the far mountains and they stay there for two weeks away from civilization. The cabin is small, with only five rooms; two bedrooms, one kitchen, one bathroom and one closet. But the view was breathtaking and a river ran five minutes from it, so Yennefer didn’t mind the close quarters. They usually ended up spending most of their time outside anyway, either on the deck or hiking through the woods. 

Yennefer loves the peace that these trips brought her, loves how just for a second she could relax. There is no one else up those mountains, but her, Geralt and their daughter. There is no one she must prove herself to, the way she must prove herself every day in the debate room too boring men who still thought that she wasn’t fit to be there. Up in the mountains, she could finally relax, metaphorically let down her hair and even though she and Geralt have to share close quarters, they make it work. 

For some fucking reason, the idea of Jaskier joining on these trips doesn’t bother her as much as she thought it would. 

He would be loud; an upside of being in those mountains was that you could scream as loud as you could and no one would hear you. He would probably bring his guitar along as well and insist on playing around the fire. He would probably bring those ugly clothes of his as well and they probably get tossed around like they were at Geralt’s house. 

“We’ll see,” Yennefer tells Ciri, who nods, then runs off. 

She brings it up to Geralt on the phone that evening. 

“Ciri asked if he could come,” she says. “I was wondering what you thought of it.” 

Geralt is silent for a long time and Yennefer could practically hear him thinking. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” he says at last. “What about you?” 

“I guess I wouldn’t mind it if he came along just this once,” she says slowly, considering her words very carefully. “One condition though: you have to be the one to invite him along.” 

She wouldn’t be able to handle it if Jaskier thought the idea was hers. 

Geralt agrees and the next day, the invitation is extended; Jaskier accepts. They start planning to leave in a week. Geralt makes the calls reserving the cabin and Yennefer writes a checklist about everything that they would need and Ciri begins to pack her bags. Jaskier talks excitedly into the ear of whoever is closest about how “this is so exciting! I have never been to the mountains before, my father barely even let me off the family property.” 

Yennefer can’t help but marvel at his enthusiasm. He was so excited to accompany them on this trip and Yennefer wonders what his childhood was like to be so excited for something so simple. If what she knew about his dad was any indication, it was shit. 

It makes her want to let him come along all the time, to give him the childhood they both never had. 

When it was time for them to go, they packed into Roach, Geralt's truck, with Yennefer and Geralt in the front, and Ciri and Jaskier in the back. Yennefer brings a bag full of books and vows to read at least two before the trip is over. 

The drive there is loud and restless, with many stops courtesy of Jaskier. They were expected to drive for at least six hours, but at the rate they were going, they would be there in eight. Yennefer doesn’t think the man could sit still for even an hour. He is constantly fidgeting, shifting and shaking in his seat, talking animatedly. He brings his playlists, full of songs that remind Yennefer of that day when they went to the outdoor music concert. They had the same whimsical feeling to them, making Yennefer feel like she was floating in a fairy tale. Except for one Jaskier titled “politically charged arson,” and Yennefer looks at it with a questioning glance. 

“I made it when I was sixteen and just finished figuring out my sexuality,” he explains. “I was angry y’ know. Every gay person goes through that once in their life. Some never stop. It seems so unfair doesn’t it, that people will hate you over something as simple as love.” He looks so sad when he says that. Yennefer wants to meet sixteen-year-old Jaskier who wanted the government to burn for the laws that restricted him, and tell him that things would be alright. “I was pissed. Still kinda am, but not the same amount I was when I was young. Now it’s acceptance. Plus,” he continues, brightening up. “We got politicians like you, who give a damn about us.” 

Yennefer is left speechless. She thinks back to when she first saw Jaskier on that street corner, singing her praises every day as she walked by. Of course, he loved her; loved the way she fought against the political masses trying to ignore their minority citizens. He was part of the youth of the country. Of course, he wants to change. 

She thinks that maybe she should go with him to pride this year. Ciri could come too, and Jaskier could teach her all about the different sexualities so that Ciri could grow up accepting. She wants to see Jaskier around people like him. She wants to see Jaskier as comfortable and as carefree as he does on his lock screen. 

She spends the rest of the drive-in contemplative silence, as Jaskier yammers behind her. 

They eventually turn into the rocky road that would lead them up the mountains. The mountains rise on either side of them, covered in trees and bright red rock. A giant river flows beside them, the white crests rising and falling, moving rapidly. It is fast-moving and Yennefer could hear the river even through the car windows. Jaskier looks out the window, eyes full of childish wonder as if he had never seen mountains in person before. Yennefer thinks back to Jaskiers story back at the restaurant, where he had broken his wrist and his father didn’t let him out of his sight again, and thinks he probably hasn’t. 

Their ears pop uncomfortable and suddenly everything is muted. Jaskier and Ciri clutch their ears, eyes squeezed tight with pain. Jaskier isn’t used to the pain and Yennefer feels slightly bad. 

They continue driving on the winding road, driving slowly; the edge of the mountain was right next to the truck wheels and one wrong movement would send them all hurtling over the side. Geralt keeps his eyes firmly on the road, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. For once, Jaskier shuts up, sensing the severity of the situation, not wanting to distract the man. 

Yennefer feels no anxiety; she has been here too many times before to feel anxious.

Finally, they arrive at the cabin. It’s a beaten up old thing, with rickety stairs that creak when they bring their bags in. It is exactly like they had left it, empty and still, with a thin layer of dust over everything. Jaskier walks in, drops his bags on the ground and stretches back. His shoulder pops when he moves. 

“Whew! That was a long drive,” he huffs, moving around. “Where will I be staying?” 

“With me,” Geralt grunts, leading them into the first bedroom. “There are only two beds and the couch isn’t big enough. Ciri and Yennefer will share, and so will me and you.” 

“Sharing a bed?” Jaskier sputters, turning bright red. Yennefer almost laughs; how Geralt could miss how head over heels this man is for him is beyond her. Geralt doesn’t notice how much Jaskier is blushing and instead grunts, which Yennefer takes as a confirmation that Geralt is stupid as fuck. 

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes, looking down, almost shy. Yennefer pats his shoulder, then leads Ciri into their room. The bed is queen-sized, so it wouldn’t be that much of a hardship to share, but Yennefer knows for a fact that Ciri kicks in her sleep. She wonders how many bruises she’ll have on her legs in the morning. 

They settle into the house, unpacking the food for two weeks into the fridge and unpacking their suitcases into the closets provided. Neither Yennefer nor Geralt has any cooking skills, so the job falls on Jaskier to make something for dinner, as it always seems to do lately. Yennefer can’t remember the last time she ate Chinese. He makes a simple sauce out of some spices and oil that was left in the pantry from the last time the family was there and made some chicken wings, with Caesar salad. Ciri helps him, grabbing ingredients for him and cutting up the vegetables. 

Yennefer and Geralt finish bringing in all the supplies while supper is being made and Jaskier calls them into the kitchen to get food. Yennefer is reminded of how sickeningly domestic it is, how this young man was now officially part of her family. 

They eat quickly and then spend the rest of the night playing cards. They are too tired to do anything big, trying to relax after their long drive up. 

When Ciri begins to fall half asleep holding her cards, they stop. Yennefer carries her into the room and sets her down on the bed. Ciri is already in her pyjamas and falls asleep as soon as her head touches the pillow. Yennefer gets into her bedclothes, made of expensive black silk. She is taking off her makeup when she hears whispering coming from Geralt and Jaskier’s room next door. It is too quiet for her to hear what was being said, but she could tell it was Jaskier talking. She listened to him whisper for a few minutes, before banging the wall with her fist. 

“Keep it down,” she half yells, and the whispers stop abruptly. She finishes applying her skincare, then crawls into bed with Ciri. 

She dreams of violent storms, howling wolves and swords clashing as if she had been there herself. It feels too real and vivid to be anything but a memory. 

In the morning, she awakes to the sound of plates being set out, and the smell of bacon and eggs. Ciri is missing by her side and she can hear voices coming from the kitchen. She puts on a robe, and walks out, looking impeccable, as if she hadn’t just woken up. 

Jaskier is bustling around the kitchen, wearing a frilly apron, making breakfast. Geralt is reading the newspaper like an old man, a half-eaten plate of food beside him. Ciri is reading a comic book next to him, trying to imitate her father. It’s one of the cutest fucking things Yennefer has ever seen and she wants to grab a camera and capture the moment. 

“Good morning Yennefer,” Jaskier says when he sees her. He points to a plate full of eggs and bacon, with cooked spinach and tomatoes. “I made you a plate. Don’t know if it’s what you want, but if not, you can make your own.” 

“Thank you Jaskier,” she smiles and walks into the kitchen. Geralt looks up when she enters and nods his head in acknowledgement, which she returns. She grabs the plate and begins eating. It is made incredibly well and she finishes quickly, too hungry to pretend she doesn’t enjoy it. 

“So what are we doing today?” Jaskier asks, wiping his hands with a cloth and pushing himself onto the counter to sit cross-legged. 

“I’m going into the woods to chop some wood so we can have a fire tonight,” Geralt says, sipping some coffee from a big ceramic mug. “You’re welcome to come with, but you’ll have to help me haul wood.” 

Jaskier wrinkles his nose. “I’d rather not. I’m not cut out for that much work. What about you Yennefer? What are you doing?” 

She smirks. “I’m staying here and catching up on some reading. You’re welcome to join, but I expect you to be quiet if you do.” 

Jaskier sighs. “You’re all so boring. Why don’t you do something fun?” 

Geralt fixes him with a look full of fond exasperation. “You sound like a child. Wander around if you’re so bored already, I’m sure you’ll find something to do.” 

Jaskier ends up staying with Yennefer, waving goodbye to Geralt and Ciri as they drive away to find some fallen trees to chop up into firewood. They will be back in a few hours, and Yennefer plans on using those hours to get some reading done. There is only one problem: 

“So what are we going to do?” Jaskier asks, following her back into the cabin. She enters her room and he waits at the entrance, leaning on the doorframe. “I was thinking about you taking me down to the river. I’m sure it would be a great inspiration for some songs.” 

“ _We_ are not going to do anything. I am going to sit on the deck and read. You are going to shut up so you don’t distract me.” 

“I didn’t think you were serious about that,” Jaskier whines. He has hung up his apron and is wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a simple t-shirt, with a denim jacket over top. His hair is getting longer, flopping over his eyes and he has to constantly brush it away. 

“Don’t you know? I’m serious about everything.” She starts digging through her bag, trying to find a good book, something that would keep her interested, hopefully even with Jaskier there, who would be trying to distract her while she read. 

“Really? You haven’t made one single joke ever in your life?” 

“Never.” 

“I would pity you, but it almost makes sense, with your heart of stone.” She looks over at him and he is looking at her teasingly, laughter in his eyes. It’s a good look at him, she thinks. 

“Heart of stone? Is that the best you can do to insult me?” she teases back. It feels weirdly natural, to be bantering with Jaskier like this, with no malicious intent behind it. 

“It’s the best I can offer right now,” he says back and walks into her room. He gives her a cheeky grin. She rolls her eyes and continues leafing through her bags. She can’t find the books and is about to give up and look in Geralt’s room when she notices something peculiar; it is silence, for perhaps the first time in hours. She looks over at Jaskier and he is standing over the dresser, fiddling with something. 

“What is that?” she asks, and he startles, spinning around. 

“Sorry, I just-” he scratches the back of his head and looks away sheepishly. “I just like the colour. It’s pretty. It looks good on you.” 

He is holding one of Yennefer's lipsticks, her favourite one, a dark plum colour. She stares at the tube in his hand and thinks that he wouldn’t have pointed it out without a reason. She just needs to find out why. 

“You can borrow some if you want,” she says mildly, watching carefully for his reaction. He turns slightly red at her words and looks down at the makeup in his hand. 

“Really?” he asks. “Would the colour look good on me?” 

“Oh no, only certain people can wear that colour without looking washed out. It would probably just make your skin look pale and sickly. But,” she walks over, abandoning her quest for the books and reaching past Jaskier, trapping him against the dresser so she could get into her makeup bag, “you might look good in this.” She holds up a tube of bright red lipstick and shakes it slightly. 

He takes the lipsticks and stares at it for a couple of seconds. “Could you put this on for me?” he asks finally, looking strangely nervous. She nods and takes it back. 

“Go sit in the kitchen,” she commands and he obeys, walking out. She grabs the rest of her makeup and follows him. He sits down in one of the kitchen chairs, properly this time. He looks oddly stiff, looking tense and nervous. She leans over him, holding the lipstick tube. 

Yennefer uncaps the lipstick, then tilts Jaskiers chin up with her finger. He keeps his eyes locked on hers, the sun hitting the side of his face, turning his hair golden and his eyes a sea glass green. She spreads the shiny wax over his lips. It is a deep, blood red, and it highlights his rosy cheeks. Yennefer steps back to admire it; his lips are now a deep red. He rubs his lips together, getting used to the product on his lips. 

“It feels kind of weird,” he states. His voice sounds odd like he has just been strangled, but he doesn’t look as tense as before. She thinks it might be because it is the first time he has worn something like this, despite his slight feminine looks. 

Sometimes it takes a while for someone to break out of society’s expectations for both boys and girls, and embrace both sides. 

“It will at first,” Yennefer says. “You’re not used to it.” She digs through her bag to find a good eye shadow palette and Jaskier squints his eyes suspiciously. 

“What are you doing?” 

She doesn’t look at him and instead gets out some brushes. “I already put the lipstick on, might as well do the rest.” She picks a good eye shadow shade and brushes some of the pigment on the brush. 

“Oh okay,” Jaskier says faintly and lets her do what she wants to him. 

The next few minutes are silent, except for the soft sounds of the brush putting rouge and eye shadow on Jaskier's face. Yennefer is about to apply eyeliner when Jaskier speaks up. 

“Your makeup always looks so good. Truly, I’m envious.” 

“It takes a lot of practice,” murmurs Yennefer, sharpening the lines on his eyes. She tries to stick to a simpler look for now, but can’t help making the eyeliner bold, knowing that Jaskier would love a dramatic look. 

“No really. I would look at you when he walked by and think, _Damn. She did that._ It always comes out perfect.” He remains partially still, tapping a finger on his leg until Yennefer picks up the mascara and tries to apply it. He flinches away. “What the hell is that?” 

She huffs. “It’s a mascara wand. Relax, it won’t hurt you, but you will have to keep completely still. I know that is near impossible for you, but I might accidentally poke you in the eye if you move.” 

Jaskier looks suitably terrified and tries to keep still, even though his body is shaking. His eyelashes flutter involuntarily when Yennefer comes close with the mascara wand. He gets small smudges of dark coal on his eyelids and cheeks, and Yennefer tries to wipe it away with her fingers. 

She steps back to admire her handiwork. The dark lines and shades around Jaskier’s eyes just highlight the colour of his eyes. He looks good in makeup. It gives him a more bold, dramatic look, despite the simplicity of the work. If she had brought her entire kit with her, then maybe she could have done something bigger, something that Jaskier would love, but this looks good too. They could always buy more when they got back to the city. 

She turns on her phone and goes to the camera, then gives it to Jaskier so he could admire himself. His face is unreadable as he turns his face in each direction to look more carefully. Yennefer waits to hear what he has to say. 

“It looks amazing,” he breathes, his eyes sparkling. 

“Of course it does, I’m amazing,” Yennefer responds, then takes back her phone. She tries not to feel too much pride in his words. 

“No seriously Yen, this is what I always wanted! Thank you,” he says. He is smiling so wide and Yennefer’s heart flutters. She can’t bring herself to be mad about the nickname, one that used to exclusively belong to Geralt, but seems to be claimed by Jaskier. 

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t care as much anymore; it feels more natural, more innocent coming from Jaskier. 

“Why didn’t you do it earlier then?” she asks. She starts putting away her brushes and palettes. “I could have helped you. We could have gone shopping together.” 

“You hated me, you wouldn’t have done anything with me.” 

Yennefer stills then turn her body to face Jaskier. “Well I indeed hated-” she stops and quickly amends her sentence, “I hate you, but I don’t have anyone to go shopping with, and it would be nice to get a second opinion on things. Ciri isn’t interested in makeup and I’m not forcing her to be. That’s how trauma happens.” 

Jaskier pretends not to have noticed her slip. “Well invite me along next time. I enjoyed this, I did.” He brightens. “Plus, I’ve been saving my money lately, and I’ll be able to buy some now! You’ll have to tell me what shade this is so I can buy it myself.” 

“Don’t be silly. You don’t have to pay for anything. I have enough.” Yennefer zips up her bag and then holds a hand out to Jaskier. He takes it and she lifts him out of the chair. Before when Yennefer was doing his makeup, she loomed over him. Now Jaskier looks down at her, and she bristles at it, missing when she had the high ground. She’ll have to get some new heels when they get back to the city. “Cheap makeup isn’t good for your skin. I’ll get you the good stuff,” she promises. 

  
  


She walks off, trying to ignore the excited “Thank you Yen!” behind her. 

Jaskier keeps the makeup on for the rest of the day. Yennefer finds her books in Geralt’s room, then goes outside onto the deck into the sun to read. Jaskier follows her, with his notebook. He spends the day scribbling words down onto the pages, muttering to himself. He taps a pencil against his lips when he is thinking, and Yenenfer tries not to stare. It’s fascinating, she thinks, watching him work, jotting down his ideas onto crumpled pages. The notebook is well-loved, covered in scribbles and pencil marks. She wonders what could be written in there, what Jaskier would deem important enough to be written down. 

When Geralt and Ciri return, it is almost suppertime. Jaskier gets up and runs over to Geralt. Yennefer puts down her book, memorizing the page number. She could see that the truck's box was full of chopped wood. Both Ciri and Geralt look exhausted, covered in dirt and wood chips. 

Geralt’s eyes widen when he looks at Jaskier. Jaskier notices, but he keeps talking, slowly getting more and more nervous the longer Geralt stays silent. From behind Jaskier, Yennefer glares, daring him to say a word about the makeup. 

Out of all the people she knows, she would have expected Geralt to be the least judgemental about it. 

“-and then Yennefer did my makeup, which I think was very nice of her! What do you think my dear?” Jaskier's voice was full of feigned casualness as if he was waiting for Geralt to say something rude about it. 

Geralt looks him up and down. “It looks good on you,” he eventually grunts, before walking past him into the cabin. Jaskier watches him walk away, smiling happily. 

“You look kind of like a princess,” Ciri giggles beside him and Jaskier laugh. Yennefer could hear the relief in his voice, relief that no one was judging him for it, for putting on something that was so often connected with femininity. 

Jaskier walks with Ciri up to the cabin and he catches Yennefer’s eye as he passes. He smiles so gently at her, full of sincerity and happiness. His lips were still painted bright red and suddenly Yennefer was filled with the urge to smear it, to take her fingers and push the colour up and down his face. 

She shakes her head, wondering where those thoughts came from and follow them inside. She ignores the pit in her gathering in her stomach. 

* * *

Nine days into their vacation, Jaskier writes Ciri a song. 

They are sitting around the fireplace in the cabin; Geralt is sitting on the small couch, reading a book, with Ciri and Yennefer is on one of the kitchen chairs she dragged over. Jaskier is on the floor, guitar on his lap, absently running his fingers over the strings. He is wearing lipstick, this time an even darker red, almost black on his lips. He hasn’t been able to stop wearing it ever since Yennefer did it for him, and he steals her makeup every morning. She pretends to be mad about, but can’t help but feel rising happiness when she sees him wearing it. She doesn’t know why she does. Doesn’t want to know. 

“Can you play something for me?” Ciri asks, rubbing her eyes. It is after supper and they are pleasantly full. Jaskier had cooked steak and tomato salad. The fire fills the room with the smell of burning wood, and the orange light flickers over the walls. The night is warm, and the stars burn bright through the windows. Somewhere a wolf howls at the moon. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear,” he stops and looks at Yennefer. “Permitted your mother agrees.” 

She lazily waves her hand, permitting him. He probably would have sung even without it, so she doesn’t even know why she agreed. 

  
  


“Something new,” Ciri says. “Something about me, like you used to do on the street.” 

Yennefer remembers that day when Ciri was six and Jaskier sang a song for her. It was so hazy, a memory she nearly forgot, but she still remembers the annoyance she felt, watching him sing about her daughter. Jaskier thinks about it for a second, before repositioning his guitar. 

He brushes his fingers over the strings in a simple melody Yennefer recognizes as the one he used for every song for everyone on the street. He opens his mouth and begins to sing, soft and gentle, like a lullaby. 

He sings of a princess in some kingdom called Cintra, the Lion Cub. He sings of a girl born of parents whose screams could topple kingdoms. He sings of the royalty, a Queen as ruthless as her name, and deserving of her prowess. He sings of war and a girl lost in the woods and legend created by Destiny. 

He finishes the song and it’s incomplete, full of half-finished rhymes and common metaphors, but Ciri claps happily. Geralt is paying attention now, the book is forgotten as he watches Jaskier. 

“I love it,” Ciri says dreamily, then points at Geralt. “Do him next!” 

Jaskier obliges, and he starts the tune again. This time the song is full of swords and wolves howling, as he tells the tale of a Witcher, someone who is destined to protect the human race, despite being scorned by it. He sings of yellow eyes and black armour and someone full of so much kindness and gentleness, despite his outer look. 

The song fills the air, and Geralt is tense, obviously uncomfortable being sung like that, full of love and understanding. Jaskier cares, so obviously so, and it is so different than what both Geralt and Yennefer usually expect. 

Jaskier ends it, and the notes tremble in the air. Just like Ciri’s, it is incomplete but no less beautiful. 

He turns to Yennefer and starts the tune again. Yennefer wants to tell him to shut up, to stop his fucking playing, but Ciri is watching intently and she can’t speak, can’t even open her mouth. Jaskier has cast a spell on her, and she must listen. 

He sings of a sorceress who wants everything, who is full of power and ambition, who refused to bow to anyone's whims, who is as beautiful and as untouchable as a poisonous flower. He spins the Witcher into her story, two people tied to each other by fate and Yennefer tries to imagine herself in Jaskier’s song. 

Is that how Jaskier sees her? As someone untouchable and powerful? Who could destroy him with a snap of her fingers and barely any strength? 

He hates her, the same way she hates him. She is bitter and full of barbs, and he is sweet and delicate, someone who looks like he would hold a teacup like it was the most precious thing in the world. 

But does he hate her? 

(“You’ll see one day,” Geralt had told so many years ago, watching Jaskier splash around with Ciri in the waves. She thinks she gets it now.) 

He sings like he isn’t worthy of her attention like she is above him. He speaks of her like he would the gods in ancient greek history and she thinks that maybe it is her who isn’t worthy of being immortalized in a song like that. 

He finishes and Ciri claps wildly. He stands up and does an exaggerated bow in her direction. “Thank you, princess,” he winks. 

“That was horrible,” Yennefer says without thinking, and Jaskier gasps mockingly. 

She doesn’t think his song was horrible, she just thinks that it is horrible to be sung like that by Jaskier. If she was Jaskier, she would have destroyed him, brought him down to his knees with her song. Why would have he done differently? 

“Well, you have broken ears,” he says, putting his guitar down. “That was some of my best work!” 

“Don’t listen to mom,” Ciri says, hugging him and glaring at Yennefer. “It was amazing. You did fantastically.” 

Jaskier laughs and hugs her back. “Don’t worry, it will take a lot more than that to bring me down. Yennefer is going to have to try a lot harder than that to truly insult me.” 

She doesn’t say anything back, just continues staring into the flames, grateful the music is finally over. The spell is broken, and she never wants to be sung like that again. 

It doesn’t fucking stop. 

He continues throughout the trip, adding to the music, creating a whole new world with his words. 

He sings of Kaer Morhen, a broken stronghold, who still keeps its last few occupants safe. He sings of how Geralt became the Butcher of Blaviken, and Ciri cries, listening to his story. He sings of Geralt being scorned and having rocks thrown at his back after saving a town from destruction. He tells about the Law of Surprise, and how Geralt came to inherit a child, and Ciri tugs on Yennefer's sleeve when he interconnects their stories. 

He creates a romance between the Witcher and the sorceress, the passion burning bright, full of sparks and flames, setting fire to their bed, and Yennefer wonders who told him about their marriage before it all went to shit. It reminds her of how she and Geralt used to be, back when they thought that the love they held for each other was romantic. 

Fuck, she’s getting sentimental. What the hell has that idiotic singer done to her? 

They spend the rest of the trip listening to his music and the story he weaves, picking bits and pieces from their lives and twisting it up into a fantasy wonderland. Ciri begs him to tell him more and more, and he obliges every time. 

“Where are you in this?” Ciri asks one day. 

“Well my dear, I’m the storyteller. Every good story needs a good narrator y’ know, otherwise, the story isn’t done justice. I wish I could put myself in, but I’m just the writer. Nothing more.” 

They pack up and leave after two weeks. Jaskier spends the car ride home writing in his notebook, and if Geralt runs over one too many potholes and swerves randomly one too many times so his pencil will go scraping across the paper and he’ll squeak with anger, well then, that is no one's business but his own. Yennefer watches him do so with a smile on her lips. 

The drive home is a lot easier, with Jaskier absorbed completely in his writing and they don’t need to make as many stops. They get back to the city in record speed and Yennefer finds that she almost missed it. 

They drop Jaskier off first, and it’s the first time they have seen his apartment. It is tall and old fashioned, with crumbling bricks and graffiti on the walls, profanities written in bright colours. They can hear someone yelling from inside and police sirens in the background. A skinny dog picks through some trash in the alleyway next to it. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” Jaskier crows as he slips out of the truck, grabbing his things. “I’ll see you guys this Saturday, okay?”

He hugs Ciri goodbye and Yennefer doesn’t want him to go into the building, into his shared apartment with the not-so-nice people he doesn’t want Ciri to meet. She looks over at Geralt and she knows he doesn’t want him to leave either. 

She wonders if she should call him back, but he is already half-way to the door, walking backwards as he waves goodbye, and Geralt already has his foot on the gas and is driving away. 

Yennefer feels a weird pit in her stomach as they get farther away from him as if something is sucking all her organs into a black hole in her body. 

“I miss him already,” Ciri sighs, and Yennefer privately agrees, wondering when that happened, wondering if Jaskier still had his spell on her. Wonders when he had snuck into her heart and made his home inside it until even though she hates him, she can’t be away from him for long. 

Geralt drops her off at her house and takes Ciri with him for two weeks. She waves goodbye and then unlocks her apartment door. 

She is taking off her shoes, thinking of the different makeup stores she could go to get Jaskier some good, expensive stuff, and how amazing he would look in bright pink lipstick and eye shadow when it hits her and she nearly topples under the weight of it. 

She’s in love with him. And she fucking wants to kiss him. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

When the fuck did that happen, she thinks, throwing her shoes on the floor a little harsher than necessary. When the fuck did her hatred turn to love? Has it always been love, but she was just too stupid to see it? 

Yes, she can admit he is attractive in a feminine kind of way. He has some of the prettiest eyes she has ever seen, and yes, his fashion sense is ugly as all hell, but he somehow manages to make it look good. 

And yes, he sang about her like she was the most powerful being in the universe, but it wasn’t _that_ good right? He is still the most annoying person she has ever met, but she somehow wants to kiss him despite it. 

What used to annoy her about him now endears her to him, because when she thinks of him rambling in that animated way of his, she wants to shut him up with a kiss and not a bullet to the mouth. 

Fuck, she thinks. 

She’s in love with Jaskier. 

She takes a deep breath and tries to sort out her thoughts. So she wants to kiss Jaskier and maybe even more. So what? It’s not like it’s going to change anything between her. She isn’t going to confess anything; with hope, this strange infatuation of hers will go away within the month. 

Besides, he’s in love with Geralt, her ex-husband and any fool could see that it probably wouldn’t end well for her. 

(How fucking horrible is it to fall in love with a man who loves your ex-husband? Who would do that?)

* * *

She spends the next few days mentally re-evaluating her memories, re-shelving everything she knows. It was so obvious now that she understands what she is feeling. Every time he had smiled at her, and she could feel the pit in her stomach grow bigger, that was just her suppressing her feelings like she always seemed to do nowadays. 

It is Monday, and she must walk to work. She prepares herself for seeing Jaskier again after her big realization, but he isn’t there at his street corner. She doesn’t know whether or not to feel relieved; on one hand, she doesn’t have to hear the way he romanticizes her in song. On the other hand, she doesn’t get to hear him sing about her, where she could almost trick herself into thinking he would love her back. 

It is a double-edged sword; the one thing that manages to convince her that maybe Jaskier doesn’t hate her the way she tried to make him, is the one thing she is trying to avoid. 

She doesn’t see him on Tuesday, nor on Wednesday, nor Thursdays, nor on Friday. By Thursday, she is scared, though she’ll never admit it to anyone. She wonders if anything happened to him. She tries to resist the urge to call him, knowing that she doesn’t have a true reason to do so and that if he asked, she doesn’t have a clear answer for him. 

After work, she visits some of her favourite makeup places and picks out some shades of lipstick and eye shadow she knew Jaskier would love. She tries not to go crazy with it, knowing that Jaskier would probably prefer to pick some out himself, but just enough that makes her feel like she is doing something important for him. 

Saturday can’t come soon enough for her. They are planning on going back to the beach where Yennefer first learned Jaskier’s name, and she has wrapped her gifts in tissue paper, hoping it looks pretty enough for him. 

She is the first person there and she waits, tapping her foot impatiently, refusing to blame it on her anxiety instead. Geralt and Ciri are late, which is uncommon for them. Jaskier is usually a few minutes behind them, because he doesn’t have a car and has to walk instead, or when the event calls for it, the subway. 

She intends to give Jaskier his gift and hopefully find out where he was over the last few days, even if she has to shake him to find out. 

(Not that she is worried or anything, it was just that the walk to work was boring without her theme song playing behind her.) 

“Yen!” a voice calls and she turns, perhaps a bit faster than she would have liked. 

“Jaskier,” she says and he runs up to her, breathing heavily. He doesn’t have his guitar this time and is instead carrying a bag full of food for them. He puts his hands on his knees and looks up at her, face flushed red. It is a hot summer afternoon, and he is wearing jean shorts and a button-up t-shirt with cuffed sleeves, covered in palm trees. He licks his lips and she is reminded of her realization, of how much she wants to kiss him. 

“How are you?” he asks when he regains his breath. 

“I’m fine,” she says stiffly, trying to ignore how she was just imagining kissing him until he couldn’t breathe. She shoves the package at him and it hits his chest roughly. “I got you something. So you wouldn’t get the cheap stuff.” 

He smiles at her teasingly. “Careful Yen. If you continue like this, I might think you actually care about me.” 

She resists the urge to saying something fucking cheesy like _I’ve always cared about you._

“I just don’t think I could have been seen with you in public wearing the stuff,” she replies instead. “Don’t look that deep into it.” 

She suddenly realizes that Jaskier would probably be wearing the makeup in public and she would have to see him biting and licking his lips like he always did, except this time wearing lipstick. She wonders if this was a good idea. 

Jaskier looks at her with a patronizing look on his face, as if he knows her better than herself, and Yennefer doesn’t know if she wants to punch or kiss it off. He peels back the tissue paper and picks up the lipstick tubes. She has picked out the red colour she had put on him the first day, a bright pink one, and one that was a light peach. A small palette and a mascara tube were the other items in the gift. She had thought it wasn’t enough, but from the way Jaskier’s eyes were shining, it had been perfect. He admires each one for a few seconds, before wrapping the gift up again and putting it inside the bag lovingly.

“This is amazing Yennefer, I don’t know what to say, this is perfect. Thank you so much, this is so amazing! You didn’t have to,” he rambles and Yenenfer tries to drown it out, lest she falls deeper in love with him. 

“Don’t mention it,” she says, wishing he really wouldn’t. 

Jaskier looks like he wants to say something else, but then Geralt pulls up with Ciri and Jaskier is distracted. Geralt is wearing a heavy leather jacket and ripped black jeans, and Yennefer could see the way Jaskier’s eyes widen, and again, she is reminded that Geralt is one the Jaskier is in love with, not her. 

“Geralt dearest, you're wearing something fashionable today!” he yells, running towards him, leaving Yennefer behind. 

Geralt looks down at himself and grunts. At Jaskiers admonished look, he says, “Ciri picked it out for me.” 

Ciri beams beside him, obviously proud of herself. 

“Well, clearly Ciri has good taste. Look at you, you look like you’re trying. I mean, you always look amazing, but in a more sexy swamp rat kinda way. This is more of a fashion model vibe, holy shit.” He looks down at Ciri. “Don’t say that word, okay?” 

“What, shit?” she asks innocently and Geralt glares at Jaskier, who automatically backs away, hands held up in surrender. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he apologies and returns to Yennefer's side, who smacks him gently upside the head. “Ow,” he mumbles, running his hand at the back of his head. “Uncalled for. And here I thought you cared about me.” 

“Don’t teach my daughter swears,” she chastises. “And didn’t I tell you to not look that far into it?” 

“Yep,” he says cheerfully. “And I decided to ignore it.” 

She laughs - actually laughs - and Geralt looks at her funny. She shakes her head, telling him silently to not say a word, and Geralt nods then look away. 

The four of them head down to the beach and Yennefer is too distracted to even think about asking Jaskier where he was for the last week. 

* * *

She gets her answer two days later when the trending hashtag on Twitter is #TheWitcher. 

She flips through the posts, each one talking about the ‘breathtaking music,” and the “fantastic story,” and Yennefer tries to remember where she had heard the title Witcher and then it hit her; Jaskier’s songs. 

She finds his YouTube channel easily enough; strangely it hadn’t been created until a week ago. She would have thought that for a struggling musician, he would have made one before. 

He has named it ButtercupSpeaks, and she remembers how his name means buttercup in Polish, and she used to wonder why a man would name himself after something so traditionally feminine. Now that she has met him, it makes sense. He is just pretty and delicate enough to be a flower but could be poisonous to those who mistake him for easy prey. 

The first video has Jaskier sitting on his messy bed, his guitar in his lap. He is dressed in a pair of jeans and a button-up, with bracelets all around both wrists. He greets the camera warmly, waving slightly with a goofy grin on his face. Then the music starts and Yennefer is blown away. 

The song is very different from what he played up in the mountains. It is faster, with a more developed storyline and better lines. He has written more from there, creating an actual timeline for the story. The song is focusing on Geralt, a Witcher, who is destined to walk The Path alone until a mistake placed him as the main caretaker of a young girl. It is over quickly, and Jaskier waves goodbye to the camera, promising more to come. 

There are two more videos, each posted on the same day, each one focusing on a different person. Yennefer finds her song easily enough. It is the longest one and she listens to the lyrics. She finds lines that she recognizes from when Jaskier was a simple busker on the street, making up silly rhymes for her as she passed by and ones he sang up in the mountains. She thinks that this must have been how he always saw her, despite her attempts at getting him to hate her. 

It already has over 1 million views and a few hundred thousand likes. People must be desperate for something new, Yennefer thinks faintly because there is no way they give a shit about the story. The videos were only posted a few days ago and it already had so much attention, not to mention the fact that Jaskier was new to the app. 

There are already a few covers being sung, and Yennefer watches them all, hearing her song come from other people's lips. The praise and awe that has filled Jaskiers mouth and her ears were now being spread and Yennefer hates watching other people sing of her power. She is used to people's compliments on her political career, on her ability to remain calm in the face of tyranny, and she is used to the hatred thrown at her from the right. But it feels different, hearing about someone who was meant to be her in some other world, being sung of, being praised for something other than her beauty and political opinions. 

Back on Twitter, people have already made the connection between Yennefer, the famed sorceress, and Yennefer, the famed politician, along with the two Geralt’s. The picture was taken in the airport so long ago was being circulated again, with even more people speculating about the supposed relationship between the two. 

It pisses Yennefer off, bringing back old rumours and photos to prove a point that didn’t exist. She was forcibly reminded of when the rumours about Geralt and Renfri were going around. People were bringing up old pictures, old headlines to get rid of their boredom; because that was how people amused themselves these days, at the expense of other people's happiness and privacy. 

She texts Geralt the link to the YouTube videos, asking if he has seen them yet. He responds a few minutes later with a simple _yes._

She wonders what he thinks of them; he has already been exposed enough to the media, he most likely didn’t want any more publicity. Then again, the video hasn’t brought up anymore speculation about Renfri. The videos have almost seemed to bury them. When you search Geralt up on google, the first few articles aren’t about the alleged affair, but the story tales that Jaskier weaves about his fantasy persona. 

The thing is, she doesn’t care about the videos and the story they tell. She cares that the videos were written for Ciri in some tiny cabin, not for the public ears and that Jaskier just went and shared them. It ruins the point of them, how they were created for some little girl, who wanted to be a princess and how Jaskier obliged. They were meant to be their songs, something that Jaskier would sing when they head back to the mountain when Ciri gets nightmares and he is staying over, and maybe even on Ciri’s wedding day because she knows that he wouldn’t let any other musician play on that day, wouldn't accept that any were be good enough to play on her special day. 

She vows to confront Jaskier about the YouTube videos the next time she sees him. 

The next time is Saturday when he comes with them to an amusement park. Ciri has already seen the videos herself and is bursting with happiness for him. She tugs his hand and asks if she could feature in his next video, as a background musician. Jaskier agrees, admitting that having a second musician with him would help the effect, provided Yennefer and Geralt agree. Yennefer grudgingly allows it, when Ciri turns her puppy dog eyes on her. The girl is older now, but they are still incredibly effective, and Yennefer feels herself crumble under the weight of them. 

Ciri spots some ride she would like to go on and runs off with Geralt, leaving Jaskier and Yennefer alone. She turns to him the second Ciri is out of earshot, ready to yell at him, but not sure where or how to start. 

“Come on, walk with me,” she instead says casually, gripping his arm and dragging him behind her. He lets out a strangled noise and lets her pull him along, grumbling the entire time, but still following. 

“I hear you posted the songs,” she says, her nails digging into his skin. She had just gotten them done a few days ago, and they are long and sharp, a deep violet colour, her favourite. “Y’know it’s trending everywhere.” 

He beams. “Yep! I didn’t think people would like it so much, but they want more apparently, so I’ll have to write some more soon. But isn’t it awesome?” 

He looks so happy with his success, Yennefer almost wants to shut up, to keep her mouth shut and not say a word. But even though she is apparently in love with the man doesn’t mean she is going to bend over backwards for him, even at the expense of his happiness. 

(Maybe that was why things didn’t work out with Geralt, because she was unwilling to compromise because she always wanted things done her way all the time because she was unwilling to lie for his sake.) 

“I wish you hadn’t,” she says plainly, coming to a stop. They are standing at the fence of the park, away from everyone else. She pushes him against the fence and stands in front of him, making sure he couldn’t leave, trapping him against her. 

“Why?” Jaskier asks, looking for an honest answer and Yennefer wishes she had one to give him, one that didn’t betray how she felt about him. 

“Because they’re not us,” she says instead, knowing her argument is weak. She just wishes that the songs had stayed in the mountains, or better yet, hadn’t been written at all. 

He snorts. “Really Yen? They’re fantasy songs, based loosely on you guys. Of course, they aren’t you, they aren’t meant to be. I don’t see you fighting dragons, now do you? Unless you aren’t telling me something, I don’t see the problem.” 

She crosses her arms and steps closer. Jaskier subconsciously takes a step back, his back hitting the fence. She is shorter than him, but now she almost looms over him and he seems to shrink within himself under her gaze. She looks him up and down for a few seconds, before catching his eyes. His eyes are a bright blue under the neon lights of the amusement park, and his hair is cast in bright pink and purple lights. The sounds of screaming children and metal wheels fill the air between them. 

She fucking wants to kiss him, to slam him against the fence until the metal digs into his skin, wants to kiss him until his lips turn bright red, redder than the lipstick she bought him. She doesn’t move muscle, too scared of what she might do if she moves closer. 

Jaskier is watching her carefully, and for a second, Yennefer thinks that maybe Jaskier wants the same thing she does, but then she remembers: Jaskier is in love with Geralt, not her. So she stays still, hoping to at least intimidate him a little if she can’t have him the way she so desperately craves. 

After a few minutes, she steps away and Jaskier sags with relief. “Just ask next time before you post,” she says, shaking her head, trying to clear her head of thoughts of Jaskier. 

“Okay, okay,” Jaskier says, pulling away from the fence. “I will, don’t get your panties in a twist. Now c’mon, Ciri and Geralt are probably looking for us.” 

They walk back together, Yennefer keeping her hands away from his arm, secretly wishing she was gripping it again, leading him places, taking him where she wants to go, away from everyone else. 

* * *

Yennefer is a selfish person. She wants the world on a silver platter, handed to her with silver cutlery, served to her by adoring servants who do everything she asks of them without complaint. 

She grew up with nothing, of course, she would try to keep what she has safe, of course, she would yearn for more and more. She has the money to demand most of what she wants and between her and Geralt together? They have quite a bit. 

But you can’t steal someone's heart, especially when it belongs to someone else. 

Yennefer wants to fight, to punch and kick and scream, until Jaskier is hers, until he belongs to her completely. 

But it’s Geralt, and she can’t. She loves him, not romantically, but by gods, she does, even if he did betray her with Renfri, even if things are awkward as fuck between them now. She loves them both, loves Ciri too, and so this time she won’t. This time she will let Jaskier go and be happy with Geralt. She’ll pretend sometimes that Jaskier loves her back when she listens to his song, but she won’t fight. For once she’ll put down the silver sword, even though she wants nothing more than to pick it up and wield it for all to see. 

(Maybe she could be the mage in Jaskiers songs, who burns with power and Chaos.)

* * *

Jaskier keeps posting videos, with Yennefer's reluctant permission, and his channel gains a cult following. It’s a little slow, despite his initial success, but soon he has thousands of followers, who flock to his channel every Friday when he posts a new song, who write theories and fan fiction about it, who send in fan art. He treasures each one, showing Yennefer and Geralt excitably. 

He has created his persona in the story, calling himself a bard who has travelled with them both, who is dedicated to sharing their stories. He sometimes sings himself in, but very rarely, and Yennefer finds herself wondering if that means something. Something important that she wishes she knew. 

It’s interesting because his songs aren’t even trying to hide the fact that it’s based on real people. The amount of times Jaskier sings about Yennefer's “lightning storm eyes,” or Geralt’s “snow-white hair,” is staggering and people could see it. 

Sometimes Ciri is in the video with Jaskier, with her little guitar, playing in the background. Jaskier excitably introduces her and tells his viewers the story behind his songs, how they were up in the mountains when Ciri had given him the idea. He looks down at her with so much fondness in his eyes, it almost makes Yennefer sick, because he is a part of her family, and she is going to have to look at him every day for the rest of her life.

A few months into his channel, Jaskier turns twenty-one and gets an offer to professionally record his songs, and sell it as a full album. They promise to sell it on vinyl, Jaskier’s only request and he agrees. 

She comes with him to the studio recording, because Geralt can’t. He has a tournament in Australia and won’t be back for a few weeks. Ciri is at her friend Dara's house, and Yennefer plans on leaving Jaskier the first chance she gets. 

A young man introduces himself as Jean, who takes them into the studio, and shows them where everything is. He shows Yennefer a small couch where she waits and watches as Jean shows Jaskier where he will be singing and how. He explains how the microphones work and how he will be editing everything outside the recording box. There is already a band here, who will be adding in instruments to make the music more dramatic. Jaskier shakes all their hands and talks to them loudly. They are unprepared for his excitement and energy but adapt to it quickly until they too are almost shaking with excitement. Jaskier just has that effect on people, Yennefer thinks, the ability to make people just stop thinking and to celebrate with him. 

They start after a few minutes of getting to know each other. Jaskier hands the band a copy of the music he wrote for them, and they read it over for a few minutes before they are ready. It’s a simple melody, but the music isn’t what is important; it's Jaskier voices that give life to his songs. It's the way that his voice swells slightly on the high notes, and how his voice stays crystal clear the entire time. He is incredibly talented, and Yennefer wishes he didn’t have to waste it on the streets for so long. 

She stays the entire time, silently wishing that she could leave, but loving how at home Jaskier looks in the studio box. Jaskier sings the same songs over and over again, trying to make the perfect and Yennefer is forced to endure hours of him singing her praises. The band creates beautiful music, with swelling violins and banging drums that echo around Jaskier's voice. It’s dramatic, sensational and exactly what Jaskier wants.

He leaves the studio after a full day of work, planning on coming back the next day so they could finish. Yennefer follows him out, as he happily rambles in her ear, about something that she probably should be listening to, but is drowning out instead. Even though he has the voice of an angel when singing, he still doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. 

Sometimes Yennefer wishes she wasn’t in love with someone who barely knew when to shut his fucking mouth. 

“This is going to be amazing Yen, I’ll be able to finally move out and get my apartment, and I’ll be able to buy new clothes,” he says, practically skipping beside her. They are heading down the street, looking for a good place to eat. Yennefer is wearing her big sunglasses and a giant brim hat, and she is almost unrecognizable. 

Jaskier isn’t. 

They are stopped by two girls, both about fifteen years old. One of the girls has cropped dark hair and is wearing a black band shirt, and the other is wearing high-waisted jeans and a mustard yellow cardigan. They are holding hands, and Yennefer wonders if they are gay. The second one shyly asks if he is Jaskier from the ButtercupSpeaks, and Jaskier smiles. 

“Of course I am! And who are you two lovely ladies?” 

They both giggle. The one wearing the band shirt introduces herself as Emily but tells them that she hates her name and that she goes by Em instead. The other one is named Sofia, and they tell Jaskier about how they found his channel one day while they were browsing through YouTube, and have been in love with his music ever since. 

Jaskier brushes off all their compliments, crediting his success to Ciri for inspiring him. They still gush over him, telling how they have been following the story of Geralt the Witcher for so long. Jaskier blushes and laughs with them. Yennefer waits, staying silent, wishing they could move on soon. 

He looks so natural talking to them, basking in their attention and Yennefer thinks he is right in being famous. He says the right things at the right time, and Yennefer thinks he would have made a good politician in another life, twisting people's words, but making it seem like truth while smiling and looking like the perfect picture of innocence. Nobody would ever suspect lies coming from his mouth, not from someone who looks so delicate and naive like him. 

The girl named Em looks over at her, finally noticing the second person with them, and gasps. 

“Holy fuck, is that Yennefer Vengerberg?” she says, her voice full of awe and terror. The other girl, Sofia, looks over at her voice and looks almost as shocked. Jaskier looks at Yennefer too, a look of pride on his face. 

“Yes, it is!” He drops his voice inconspicuously. “But don’t say it too loud, she’s undercover, okay?” 

The two girls nod at his words and then turn to crowd her. Yennefer takes off her sunglasses to reveal her bright lilac eyes and glares at the two girls, hoping they would get the message to stay away from her. 

“Be careful around her,” Jaskier laughs teasingly. “She bites.” 

Yennefer glares at him, hoping he could see the ‘fuck you’ written in her look. 

“I’ve always wanted to meet you,” Em says, trying to keep her voice down, sounding so awed. “You’re a big inspiration to me. You’re the reason I want to be a politician when I’m older.” 

“You’re one of the only people there I fucking respect,” Sofia says, and the swear looks so weird coming out of the mouth of someone who looks so soft. 

“Do you have any advice for me? For when I start?” Em asks, and she looks so hopeful, ready to follow whatever it is that Yennefer says. Jaskier is also watching her. He doesn’t look the least bit jealous that Yennefer has stolen their attention away from him, but more as if he is proud to be associated with someone like Yennefer. 

Yennefer considers her answer for a second, before leaning closer. The two girls lean in with her and Yennefer drops her voice to a whisper. “Trust me, most of those people you see preaching their laws don’t know jackshit about anything. It’s mostly just reworded bullshit, written to make them seem like they’re smart. Expand your vocabulary and call them out on it. Always check your sources and don’t believe everything you read. And most importantly,” she looks around, then continues speaking. “The people in charge aren’t always right. Question _everything,_ got it?” 

The two girls look at her and nod their heads frantically. Yennefer finally backs away and smirks. “I expect to be working with you soon,” she tells Em and the girl blushes. 

The two run off after a few more compliments and Jaskier hugs them both before they go. 

“They were nice,” he comments, continuing their walk down the street. “But holy fuck, that was weird. I never thought I would have fans, but damn, here we are. Is this how you feel all the time? You were so good with them.” He looks at her, a quizzical look on his face. 

“Not really, I have a lot more people hating me than loving me,” she says, putting her sunglasses back softly over her eyes. “I have a lot more controversial opinions, so I don’t get many people telling how much they love me on the streets.” 

“They certainly didn’t look like they hated you,” Jaskier points out. “That girl Em looked at you like you were the fucking sun and stars in her sky.” 

“They’re young. They like my opinions,” Yennefer says. “I am changing things for them.” 

Jaskier hums, sounding almost like Geralt for a second, before he spots a fast food place across the street. “C’mon Yen,” he yells, tugging her arm and she lets him drag her around, trying not to think about how if it was any other man, she would have already clawed out his throat with her perfect nails. 

* * *

Jaskier gets enough money from the album to buy his apartment. It’s not big or too expensive, but he has finally gotten away from the people he shared with before, who Yennefer suspects are the reason Jaskier sometimes had bruises up his arms.

He shows Geralt, Ciri and her around happily, pointing out small things, like the flowers painted on the inside of one cabinet, or the nail polish used to cover up a small hole in the bedroom. He has hung up every fan art, or fan letter he has received on an empty wall. He looks so happy while doing so, despite it being so small and dingy. Yennefer is already planning to take him shopping, to get better curtains and furniture, figuring out which colours would match the walls. 

It makes her think about when she and Geralt moved into their new place when they first got Ciri and had argued for hours over what colour the bed sheets would be. Geralt had been pretty amenable for the rest of the decisions, with only mild complaints, but had refused to sleep with purple silk sheets. The fight that resulted almost caused their divorce right there, and they eventually settled on grey cotton sheets instead, though Yennefer had got purple blankets just to spite Geralt. 

Somehow, Yennefer thinks Jaskier wouldn’t be as unmanageable as Geralt. He would probably let her do the decision making, would trust her judgement, even though he would complain while doing so. 

It makes her feel happy, the idea that for once a man would let her be the one in charge. Maybe that was why she loves Jaskier; he isn’t unafraid of her, but still fights and teases without backing down. She knows that he would be okay with letting her have control in a relationship, the control that she desperately craves. 

* * *

One thing the Internet is good at is finding things in nothing. 

It has been six months since Jaskier released his album, and he is more popular than ever. Yennefer still feels that odd bit of anger when she sees someone singing his songs under their breath in public, hating that the songs are no longer hers alone. 

It gets worse. 

It is on a regular Monday morning when a tweet goes viral, mentioning how Jaskier seems half in love with Geralt, as evidenced by his songs. The next tweet is someone analyzing every single fucking lyric Jaskier sings about Geralt, concluding that Jaskier is in love with Geralt and that it is sadly unrequited, shown by the amount of pinning and yearning in his song. People already know that Jaskier is bisexual, so it seems logical that he would fall for a straight man. It is followed by people agreeing, or finding their meaning in the words. The app is full of people commenting on the love Jaskier seems to hold for Geralt, the apparent unrequited love sounding through his music. People are questioning if it is unrequited, and is bring back that fucking airport picture, which proves nothing, but people seem to love it, shipping them together. 

Yennefer hates them all, every one of them who speculates on a relationship that doesn’t exist, but it doesn’t stop there. 

Someone brings up her song, the one Jaskier wrote for her all those years ago, and how if they were to conclude that Jaskier is in love with Geralt, they would have to do the same for Yennefer, and people agree with them, and suddenly it’s Yennefer’s song that they are analyzing, bring to the limelight. 

It becomes a war, with people arguing on who Jaskier is truly in love with, Geralt or Yennefer. 

She knows the truth; Jaskier has been in love with Geralt since he was eighteen and things haven’t changed. He still follows after him like a puppy begging for love and attention. The worst part is that Yennefer thinks Geralt returns those feelings as well, and as much it would hurt seeing Jaskier every day for the rest of her life knowing he doesn’t feel the same, it would be hell on earth seeing them together romantically. 

She wonders if they are all delusional, managing to see a hidden love in Jaskiers lyrics about her when he is so clearly in love with Geralt. It almost gives her hope, but she refuses to let that happen. 

Jaskier isn’t in love with her and he never would be. 

Someone mentions how Jaskier is probably in love with both of them, but it’s unrequited because Yennefer the sorceress and Geralt the Witcher are happily in love without him, and he stuck watching from the outside. 

It makes her laugh, because fucking hell, it certainly isn’t unrequited, perhaps on both sides. 

Someone else argues back that Yennefer the sorceress and Geralt the Witchers relationship isn’t that healthy, and besides, if Jaskier based them off the real relationship between the two, it wasn’t that happy either. 

After that Yennefer has to put down her phone, trying not to think about the war that was happening, where people were fighting over who Jaskier should end up with, her or Geralt, knowing that if it truly was a competition, she wouldn't hold a candle to Geralt and that when given the option, Jaskier would always choose the one the that wasn't her. 

* * *

She dreams of power, fire, and dragons, and soft music plucked from delicate fingers and watches how Jaskier follows Geralt to the ends of the earth, besotted, leaving her behind forever. She watches as his hatred for her burns bright, and how she snaps back, equally as hateful and bitter. 

She awakes gasping, cursing herself, and Jaskier for making her feel this way. 

* * *

She ends up alone with Geralt for perhaps the first time in years. They are at Geralt’s house, waiting for Jaskier to come with Ciri, who had been over at his apartment for more guitar lessons. She has been spending a lot more time with Jaskier ever since he had gotten his place, more comfortable with having her over now that the bad people are gone. 

It is just as awkward as it always is, though it feels natural now as if the awkwardness is old as if they don’t know what it's like to be with each other without the stifling tension in both their shoulders. 

They haven’t been the same since the divorce; it is stupid to think that they would. Even if Yennefer now knows that she never loved Geralt romantically, it still hurts, the supposed betrayal of his. 

Jaskier had made it better; allowed them to exist in the same room without worrying about the other’s reaction to them there, allowed them to be themselves in front of Ciri. He became a mediator for them without even knowing it. 

That, however, came with a price; things would have gotten better eventually, even if it took years to do it. Now they don’t know how to act without Jaskier in the room with them, directing the conversation. 

“So how are you?” Geralt asks stiffly, looking like he is forcing the words out. 

“I am as well as I can be,” Yennefer responds, wishing she had some kind of alcohol with her to numb everything, to make this experience more bearable. 

“That’s good,” he says and then things go quiet. Yennefer tightens her fists, her nails digging into her skin to distract from the tension. 

“Are you doing anything soon?” she asks. “Like this weekend?” 

She doesn’t know what she means by it. She hopes that he doesn’t think she is asking him out. 

Geralt breaths and relaxes, like it is a topic of conversation he can contribute to. “Yes, Jaskier and I are heading out of town to this bar he insists is ‘fucking amazing’,” he says, using finger quotes over what is supposed to be Jaskiers voice. 

“That sounds fun,” Yennefer comments, feeling an odd sense of jealousy settle in her gut. She is used to feeling jealous of people's success and power, but this is the first time she feels jealous of someone else's relationship. 

That should have been her first clue that things with Geralt weren't meant to be. She recalls never being jealous over the girls that practically threw themselves at the man while they were on their dates, even when it was so obvious she and Geralt were together. 

Or maybe that was just a sign they had a happy, healthy relationship; being jealous over your lover being popular with the other sex was a sign of an unhealthy relationship. 

Or maybe she was just overthinking things again in the presence of not knowing what to say with Geralt. She shakes her head, clearing out those thoughts. What mattered was that she was feeling jealous over Jaskier and Geralt’s relationship, something that was still being argued over by people on the Internet, who would fight tooth and nail to defend their ship. 

Geralt nods and Yennefer can’t help but add spitefully, “that sounds like a fun date.” 

He startles and looks at her weirdly. “Date? No, that’s not what it is.” 

“That’s how the Internet sees your relationship with him,” she replies. Jaskier still isn’t here and she wonders where he is, just so he could save them from the tension in the room that was slowly beginning to strangle her. 

“That’s not the truth though, that’s what the Internet says. You should know by now not to believe anything they say.” 

“Seems like it to me,” Yennefer snaps. “Hasn’t he made it obvious enough? He’s wanted to jump your bones since the moment he’s met you.” 

“That can’t be right,” Geralt mutters, and Yennefer wants to bang her head against the wall over his stupidity and obliviousness. “He doesn’t feel like that about me. And besides,” he gives her a pointed look. “It's not my bones he wants to jump.” 

Yennefer stops and turns Geralt's words over in her head. “No,” she snarls. “You don’t get to say that, don’t get to lie like that. He’s been in love with you since he was eighteen, and I’ll never understand why you haven’t asked him out yet.” 

“Yennefer, I don’t love him,” Geralt says, then shakes his head. “I mean, I do, just not like that.” He seems to be considering his words carefully, almost hesitant. “He’s been my friend for so long, I can’t imagine him as anything else. And he doesn’t love me, not like that either. He cares for me, but that’s it.” 

So Geralt is going to break Jaskier's heart. She can’t help but think about how she would never do that to him. 

“You fool,” Yennefer growls, and Geralt looks at her in pity and she wants to tear his throat out so he would shut up. 

“It is not me who is the fool Yennefer,” he says, and that is the moment Jaskier chooses to enter, Ciri behind him. Geralt and Yennefer both whirl towards him. 

“Hello,” he drawls, twirling in. He is wearing the lipstick Yennefer got him, the light peach colour, and is carrying two boxes of pizza. “I brought supper. One of them has pineapple on it, for the heathen among us.” He glares at Geralt, then smiles, unable to even fake being angry for long. 

Ciri spins in, bouncing excitably. “Mom, it was awesome! Jaskier got recognized again! They wanted his autograph!” 

“And of course I gave it,” Jaskier smirks, cutting in. “He was so sweet about it too. I got his number, we’ll see if it goes anywhere. I’ll keep you updated,” he winks at Geralt. 

The tension doesn’t leave with Jaskier’s entrance like it usually would. Instead, it almost gets worse and Yennefer can't stand it. She storms out, with one final glare to Geralt. She hears Jaskier ask Geralt what crawled up her ass and died, and resists the urge to go back in and to scold him for swearing in front of her daughter. 

She walks out of Geralt's house and into her car. She pulls out of the driveway and starts driving, trying to process everything that was said. 

What did he mean she was the fool? 

What did it mean?

* * *

The thing is, Jaskier is famous now. He is recognized on the streets, and people love his music. He is becoming well known around the internet and now he has actual fans, people dedicated to him. Yennefer is proud of him, but she is allowed to hate it because Jaskier made his career from her name, and there are multiple reasons why she despises it. 

(Sometimes Jaskier gets called a slut, or a cheater, or a queer, because he's bisexual. Yennefer wants to hurt all the people that hide behind their screens and bring other people down for their sexuality.)

Of course, there are the people that seem convinced that Jaskier is in love with either her or Geralt, and who speculate on their relationship, creating their theories, and that’s just fucking annoying. 

Then there is the fact that Yennefer can barely handle being sung about the way Jaskier does as if he does look at her like she is the world, and now she hears his voice all over the place. It grates on her nerves when people comment lyrics on her new Twitter posts. 

But it’s more than that. 

Jaskier no longer has a reason to stand out on his street corner, singing his silly songs to everyone who passed. Sometimes she is walking to work, dreading seeing him on that street corner, but then she remembers; he isn’t there anymore. She doesn’t want to admit it, but she almost misses him. The street corner doesn’t look right without him there, looks almost empty. 

She is proud of him. But sometimes she wishes he had kept the song's secret, for only her and his family, and she could continue seeing him every day on her way to and from work. 

It gets boring, not having his new little ditty about her playing in her head, over and over again while she works. 

* * *

A few weeks pass and Jaskier is planning to do his first live show. A group of people hired him, hoping to bring in more viewers for his channel, and were helping him plan and run it. He is ecstatic, and he works himself to death, practising every day. It isn’t meant to be big, just a small show in a tiny abandoned hotel, but the turnout is expected to be big. Yennefer or Geralt has to pull him away from his guitar more than once before he works himself to death. The band that was in the studio with Jaskier when he first recorded his album would be there too, playing with him. 

They advertise it as a storytime show, where people come and listen, not just for the music, but the world he built with it. 

Ciri helps him plan, and Jaskier shyly approaches Yennefer a few weeks before the show, asking if it would be alright to let Ciri on the stage to play with him while he sings, and she reluctantly agrees. 

Jaskier also asks if she would like to go shopping with him for a new outfit to go onstage for, and she drags him throughout the city, taking him to her favourite clothing stores, and forces him to try on multiple outfits. He tries each one on, trusting her judgement. 

(She remembers her earlier suspicion, that Jaskier wouldn’t mind someone taking control when shopping, and finds them confirmed. Of course, he also confirms that she was right in assuming that even if he does allow her to take control, he still complains every step of the way.) 

They end up picking black jeans and a bright purple Letterman jacket. He assures her that he has a shirt at home that would look amazing with the items, and she relents. They manage to find a nice pair of heels for him as well, and she finds out quickly that Jaskier was blessed by the gods when it came time to wear them. Despite insisting that he has barely worn heels in his life, he walks perfectly fine in them, and Yennefer wonders if he is lying, or if he is just naturally talented. 

Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri get free passes, and Jaskier presents them proudly. Yennefer takes her reluctantly, not knowing if she wants to go or not. She knows Geralt feels the same way, and that he hates it when people sing about him, just like her. But he is going to support Jaskier, and she remembers what he said about not loving Jaskier, and she vows to be better than him, because then maybe Jaskier would look at her like he did Geralt. 

The day before his performance, Jaskier takes them to where he will be performing. It is a crumbling abandoned hotel and is full of people bustling around. Blankets covered the walls, covering the worst of the debris, and someone had made a bar behind what used to be a check-in desk. 

He eagerly shows them around, showing them where the lights were being set up, and where he would be singing. The roof wasn’t there anymore, had caved in a few years earlier, but it would be a warm summer night when he performed, and they were hoping it would be clear skies that night, so the stars could shine down. He looked so excited, talking about his first real show, that Yennefer could do nothing but pat his back in support. 

“Good job,” she murmurs and his mouth flies open. 

“Thank Yen, that means a lot to me,” he says, eyes shining, and without warning, pulls her into a crushing hug. She stiffens, then relaxes, hesitantly putting her arms around him. She pulls away after a few seconds, immediately regretting it. Jaskier is warm and gives hugs like he is dying, and it is the first time she has been touched by someone other than Ciri in forever. 

“Don’t get too excited, I still hate you,” she lies and he grins. 

“Of course you do,” and then he winks and runs away, yelling over his shoulder that he has to find something, but she knows that it is because he doesn’t want her to argue back, and isn't giving her the chance to tell him differently. 

She likes that she could read him so easily. 

The next day is the performance; Yennefer only sees Jaskier once. It is the morning, and Jaskier is picking up Ciri for the performance; Yennefer has permitted her to skip one day of school, with the promise that she does double the homework on Saturday. 

Jaskier is shaking, full of nervous energy and Yennefer could smell the coffee on him. Yennefer wants to grab his hands, stop his shaking for him, and distract him. She briefly entertains kissing him, pushing him down and kissing him until he has forgotten his fear, but then she thinks about the consequences and decides not to. 

“Wish me luck,” he says, leaving. Ciri is already out the door, excited for the show. It has been all she could talk about last evening. 

“Good luck,” she replies, waving goodbye and suddenly, Jaskier is gone. The show takes place on a Friday night, so Yennefer goes to work, as usual, feeling more energetic than usual. She still has to deal with the same emotionally stunted pricks called politicians, but it feels more bearable when she is looking forward to something after. 

The day ends, and she drives over to the hotel, not even bothering to get something to eat, planning to get something there. At the hotel there are already people waiting, who had gotten there earlier, waiting to be let in. She pushes past them, and hears their whispers, wondering why Yennefer is here and if it means something, if their theory is proven correct, that she and Jaskier are romantically involved. She wants to laugh, but can’t bring herself to. Geralt is already here, she can see Roach inside the parking lot; they should be speculating about him instead. 

She picks a good place near the front and waits for Geralt to find her. He does eventually and joins her. He is wearing a formal suit and she wants to laugh at him, but she knows he is there to support their friend as well, so she keeps her mouth shut.

Eventually, the hotel begins filling up, filled with teenagers and young adults, all wearing Doc Martens and converse, with cuffed sleeves, dyed hair, and rainbow bracelets. Now she too feels out of place, amongst these teens. She is wearing a simple black dress and sunglasses, and she stands out like a sore thumb, just like Geralt. She can’t laugh at him anymore. 

The noise grows louder as more and more people join until the hotel is packed. Yennefer thinks there might be a few hundred people there, standing in some abandoned hotel, ready to listen to some You Tuber sing. Some people have brought their blankets and old pillows, and are sitting down on top of fallen debris, higher above everyone else so they could see better. Others have brought a blow-up mattress to sit on so that they wouldn’t have to sit on the ground.

She gets a water bottle from behind the counter, and drinks then she joins Geralt back on the floor. At exactly 6 o’clock the show starts, and Jaskier walks on the makeshift stage they have created for him, made of cheaply constructed wood that will be burned tomorrow. He is wearing black pants and the jacket she got him, but she also recognizes the shirt she bought from the thrift store so long ago, and he’s right; it looks perfect together. He is wearing makeup as well, and his lips are bright red, and it’s impossible for Yennefer to look at him and not see herself on him. 

Ciri comes on next, holding her guitar and the crowd cooed. She flushes in front of everyone but tries to stand up tall. Yennefer meets her eyes and waves at her encouragingly and Ciri waves back. 

He waves to the crowd and they automatically hush. Behind him the band starts to enter as well; one of them is carrying Jaskiers guitar. The sun is setting, but it’s still light out, and the sky is a brilliant rosy colour. Up on stage, Jaskiers eyes shine. He approaches the mic carefully and wraps his hands around it. 

“Well fuck, I didn’t think there would be this many people,” Jaskier says, sounding honestly surprised and the crowd chuckles at it. “No, seriously, I thought I would be singing to a crowd of fifty, or something, so thank you, every one of you that came. This means a lot to me.

“So a few months ago, I went on a trip with some of my dearest friends. They should be somewhere here,” his eyes scan over the crowd until he finds Yennefer and Geralt. “There they are!” He points to them, and the crowd turns to face them. Geralt stands up a little straighter, trying to look frightening so they might not approach him later, asking questions about Jaskier. “Oh don’t look like that my dear, try and look a little more approachable.” 

So Jaskier fucking ruins that. Yennefer can see Geralt slump slightly in defeat and she holds in a chuckle. 

“Where was I? Oh yeah, the trip! Well, during that trip, this little princess,” he looks down at Ciri, who waves to the crowd, “asked me to sing a song for her and me, being an amazing role model, did. And the story of The Witcher was created. Without her, I wouldn’t be standing here. So I think we should all thank her, okay?” 

The crowd cheers loudly and Ciri smiles. Jaskier puts his arm around her and smiles. “She’ll be helping me play today. I’ve been giving her lessons for a while now, so I can’t wait for you to hear her. She has really improved over the few years I’ve known her, she really is quite amazing for her age.” Jaskier is rambling, Yennefer notices, and she wonders if he is nervous. She remembers what he was like that morning, and tries to find traces of that man among this one on stage. She can’t and she thinks he has gotten better at hiding his fear. 

“Before we begin, I just want to thank you all for being here. I know I already have, but I need to do it again. Thank you so much for the support you’ve shown me. I love you all!” The crowd cheers and Jaskier step away from the mic to grab his guitar from the band member. He steps back to the mic, strums his guitar, and begins to sing Geralt’s song. 

He weaves a tale about the Witchers, and their mentor, a man who is old and wise. He sings about Blaviken, the drums growing louder and louder the closer, until the girl's death when they stop completely. 

He sings about Yennefer the sorceress, who yearns for power and control, and whose lilac eyes could bewitch any man or monster; they certainly did a Witcher. Yennefer tries to block out his voice, but she can’t, and she is glad when he begins to sing about Cintra. 

His audience remains enraptured as he continues. He stamps his foot when something is exciting, and they clap along with him. They remain solemn and silent when he sings about pain and sorrow. They clutch their friends when he tells tales of the monster Geralt the Witcher must hunt, and Yennefer finds herself jealous of how masterful Jaskier seems, despite this being his first performance. 

He gives Ciri her solo, and she crushes it. Her fingers are a little unsteady, but the crowd claps loudly after it. Someone shouts out “I’m proud of you!” and Yennefer agrees. Jaskier laughs at that and ruffles Ciri’s blonde hair. 

The show lasts for a few hours, with Jaskier sometimes returning to the mic to talk a little bit about the song and sometimes leaving for a sip of water. Sometimes the audience sings along with him, sometimes they don’t. His music washes through the building, high up into the blocked off railing and it fills the darkening sky. Yennefer is reminded of that summer folk festival Jaskier dragged them to, and how he one day wished that could be him. She thinks that if he plays like this every time, it would be soon. 

The sky is a dark violet now, and some stars are peaking through the roof. It is no longer light inside the hotel, but people could see Jaskier perfectly well. Fairy lights are hung up around the broken walls, shedding some light around. People are huddling together, even though it is warm inside the building. The city sounds outside the hotel, but it feels far away, like a dream. It feels like if they were to shut their eyes, they would fall into the fantasy land that he sang of so beautifully. 

It is 9 o’clock when Jaskier finally stops, after singing about the girl in the woods and Destiny's divine intervention. 

“You’ve been an amazing crowd,” he says, breathing heavily into the mic. “That’s a fucking cliche line, but it’s the truth. I’m afraid that I’m going to have to go soon,” and the crowd boos, though it is a little more subdued than before. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, if I could I would stay here all night, but I’m running out of song material. Although there is one song that I haven’t shown anybody yet, I didn’t think I ever would, but I will today, because why the hell not?” He adjusts his guitar. “It’s not about The Witcher though, sorry to disappoint. I suppose you could think of it as part of the story, but I didn’t write it for it. I wrote it for someone very special to me. So here it is.” 

He strums his guitar, but this time the band behind him doesn’t join in. It’s just him and his guitar this time, like he was back at his street corner, playing for coins. 

He sings of unrequited love, and the power someone holds over him with just their uniquely coloured eyes, and Yennefer wonders when Jaskier found out that Geralt doesn’t love him back. Wonders if he confessed to Geralt and Geralt rejected him. She looks at Geralt next to her, but he does not indicate that he knows what the song is about. His eyes are glassy though, the amber colour looking like fire under the fairy lights. 

She wants to ask Jaskier about the song, wonders why he is still in love with Geralt when he has made it clear he doesn’t feel the same way. Why he would insist on being in love with someone who didn’t want him. 

(Oh, the fucking irony.) 

He finishes the song, and the audience claps wildly. He bows then grasps Ciri’s hand and let her take the centre stage. She does a little curtsy and the audience claps harder. It fills the hotel, and it is so loud, Yennefer wonders if God could hear it too. 

* * *

She corners him after the show, pushing through people to find him. Geralt is at the front, waiting for Ciri and she promises to find him after she gets Jaskier. 

Jaskier is sitting in one of the abandoned rooms where he was storing his things. It is empty except for a mirror, Jaskiers bags, and a single chair. Jaskier is packing up when he sees her standing in the doorway. 

“Yen!” he says, running up to her. “How did you like the show?” He is still flushed red, though it is fading slightly. His lips aren’t as red as they were before, the product licked off during his performance, but they are still stained red. 

“It was alright,” she says. Her mind is reeling, still half-drunk from his performance, from the magic that was his music and his story. 

“Just alright?” Jaskier frowns. “I thought I did pretty good. Am I wrong? Did it sound bad?” And fuck, she feels bad for putting those doubts in his head. 

“Fine, fine, fine. It was amazing,” she corrects, and Jaskier smiles in relief. 

“Well, that's good. Fuck, I was so nervous, I was sweating so bad. And everyone was staring at me, and I was rambling on stage and God. I am glad it was good.” 

He turns around, away from her and goes to sit in the chair, though what he did could only vaguely be described as ‘sitting’. 

“You played well,” Yennefer says, entering the room. “Better than you usually do at least. I haven't heard that last one though. When did you write it?” 

Suddenly Jaskier is nervous. His eyes dart everywhere and he wrings his hands together. “Yeah, I wanted it to be a surprise for everyone. I wrote it a few nights ago. I thought it was a hit.” 

“A few nights ago?” she says. It sounds like something he would have written a long time ago when his love for Geralt was still fresh and new. “I thought you would have been over him by now.” 

She tries to keep the hurt from her voice, tries to stay strong, because she is Yennefer fucking Vengerberg, and she hasn’t let a man hurt her in a very long time. 

But Jaskier is looking confused, and maybe a little hurt as if she has missed something important. “Him? It isn’t about him.” 

Yennefer is surprised. “I thought it was about Geralt.” She steps closer into the room, towards Jaskier, who is fidgeting in his chair. “I mean, you’re in love with him, aren’t you.” 

“In love with Geralt? No! That’s-” he stops, and looks at his hands. They are trembling slightly, and he is nervous, and Yennefer doesn’t know why. Because if Jaskier isn’t in love with Geralt, then there is only one person else it could be, one other person Jaskier knows with uniquely coloured eyes. “That’s not true. I did have a crush on him when I was eighteen, but could you blame me? I had just gotten kicked out of my house, after spending my entire life with riches, and he was this hot, Greek god looking man, who let me follow him around. Well,” he rubs at his face, and Yennefer is hit with a memory of Jaskier, playing on the street when he didn’t know her fully, with a bruise blooming on his cheek. “Sorta let me follow me. Of course, I had a crush on him, and I’ll admit, it lasted for a lot longer than I thought it would, but no, I’m not in love with Geralt.” He smiles sadly. “No, I’m in love with someone else. They don’t know about it though, even though I’ve made it obvious.” 

So she is wrong. Yennefer's brain is running so quickly she could barely keep up with what Jaskier just told her, but she manages to get out, “Who is it then?” without sounding too far off. 

Jaskier looks at her with pity in his eyes, and a smile full of hurt and acceptance alike. “If you don’t know it by now, you’re a fool.” 

(“It’s not me who is fool Yennefer,” Geralt had said, and she sees it now, she does.) 

Yennefer walks towards him, purpose in her steps, and grips his neck gently. She forces his head up and he follows her lead, letting her stare him down. She looks into his brilliant eyes, a lovely green in the golden light and she kisses him harshly. He kisses her back with equal passion as if he has been waiting for this moment for so long, and with a start, Yennefer realizes he has if he has been in love with for a while. She bits his lips and tastes the sweetened wax of his lipstick. He probably could taste hers as well. 

She kisses him the way she always wanted to until he can’t breathe and he forces their lips away to gasp in air. It is full of passion and longing, as if they were both holding it in for so long, that when it finally came out, it exploded. 

“I love you,” he gasps out, chest heaving. “I don’t know why or even how, but holy fuck, I love you.” 

She pulls him up until he is standing, and then she is kissing him again, this time pulling on his collar. He circles his arms around her waist for support, and she loves the way his hands warm her body, like hot stones where his fingers press into her body. She is the one to pull away this time. Her face feels hot and flushed, and he looks the same, his cheeks a rosy pink. 

“I love you too, you fucking idiot,” she replies, before kissing him again. 

* * *

Yennefer could see Geralt at the gate, tapping his foot impatiently. Ciri is beside him, looking tired. He looks up and meets her gaze from across the room. He looks like he is about to scold them until he notices the dazed look on Jaskier’s face, and how his lips look a little darker than before. 

“Fucking finally,” he sighs and Ciri looks up at him, not noticing Jaskier and Yennefers return just yet. 

“What do you mean dad?” she asks innocently. 

Geralt looks down at her. “I’ll tell you later,” he replies, and Yennefer looks at Jaskier with a smirk. He returns her gaze with a love-struck grin and she can’t fucking believe he loves her back. 

(“You’ll see one day,” Geralt had said, and she thought she knew what he meant, but it turns out she had no idea. No fucking idea.) 

They leave the now empty hotel and walk towards Geralt’s truck, and Yennefer is excited to wake up tomorrow if Jaskier is there beside her. 

* * *

They get caught kissing a few weeks later, and the photo is circulating the Internet within the hour. The people who shipped her and Jaskier are ecstatic, relishing in their win. 

Yennefer smiles at their tweets. It is the first time she has ever loved something the internet had done. 

They were right; Jaskier is in love with her. She can see that now.

* * *

Jaskier is strumming his guitar idly, humming under his breath. Yennefer lazily lifts her head from the pillow and groans. 

“Jesus Christ, can you cut that out? Some of us are trying to sleep,” she says, burying even further underneath her purple silk sheets. 

“Sorry, darling,” Jaskier calls and the strumming stops. The humming however doesn't not, but it's not like Yennefer minds too much. 

She still finds him annoying as hell; she has just learned to love that about him. 

Jaskier stands up and walks around the room. It is almost 11 pm, and Yennefer has work tomorrow. He starts putting out all the lamps, starting with the bathroom one, then moving on to the lamps. He is singing softly under his breath, and Yennefer struggles to hear it. He moves closer to the bed, and she starts making out simple words, like “lightning” and “lilac”. 

“Who are you singing about?” she asks, already knowing the answer, but wish to hear it anyway. Sometimes she can’t believe Jaskier is there with her and not Geralt; sometimes she needs proof that he is. 

(Geralt fucked that up, regardless if he cheated or not. It can’t be her fault that she is a little cautious.) 

“You of course,” Jaskier whispers, slipping the covers. She moves closer to him to wrap her arms around his waist and buries her head into his neck. “Who else would it be about?” 

“Hmm, just checking,” she replies softly back. 

He kisses the top of her head gently, and she shuts her eyes. In the morning, she will wake up and put on her suit and high heels, ready to face her political rivals, who will inevitably fight and yell and be incredibly headache-inducing. Tomorrow she will be slandered and praised alike, and then it will continue into the next day. But here in his arms, she could almost forget that. 

He continues softly singing, and she recognizes her song, not the one that Jaskier has used to make a name for himself, not the one about Yennefer the powerful mage, but the one he first sang for her at that street corner that he no longer occupies, which now looks empty as hell whenever she passes by. 

Now Yennefer wears headphones with Jaskier’s music downloaded, and she still has her song, which she allows to get stuck in her head when she is trying to work, so she could hear Jaskiers besotted lyrics about her all the time. 

She allows herself to sink into slumber, holding Jaskier tight so he knows she loves him as well and goes to sleep knowing he would be there in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I swear, i usually write better, but i usually only write things that are 5000 words so


End file.
